“Will ye tell me what ye du with them nice bits of paper?”
“Yes, we keep them to tie up gape-seed in,” was the snappish response.
“Oh, ye du, du ye?” said Jonathan, with a sly twinkle in his eye, as he walked on. Passing down the street a short distance
our indignant Yankee accosted another merchant, to whom he said: “Mister, can ye tell me what that feller duz for a livin’ what keeps them nice bits o’ paper in his winder?”
“Yes, sir; he writes letters for persons who desire his assistance.”
“Du ye think he’d write a letter for me if I’d pay him fur it?”
“Certainly he would, and be glad of the chance.”
Our bright-eyed hero thanked him, and turned abruptly away, walking briskly in the direction from which he came. The shop was soon reached, and, fortunately, the same individual stood on the door-step. The Yankee lost no time in addressing the cockney, and thus at once began:
“I say, mister, I heerd that ye write letters fur folks what can’t write; what’ll ye tax me to write a letter to my uncle Peter?”
“I will charge you five shillings,” he said, in such a changed tone of voice that the Yankee had to look again to see that he had not mistaken the person.