On the morrow, the ship was advertised to sail. So the rest of that day I spent in preparations. After in vain trying to sell my fowling-piece for a fair price to chance customers, I was walking up Chatham-street with it, when a curly-headed little man with a dark oily face, and a hooked nose, like the pictures of Judas Iscariot, called to me from a strange-looking shop, with three gilded balls hanging over it.
With a peculiar accent, as if he had been over-eating himself with Indian-pudding or some other plushy compound, this curly-headed little man very civilly invited me into his shop; and making a polite bow, and bidding me many unnecessary good mornings, and remarking upon the fine weather, begged me to let him look at my fowling-piece. I handed it to him in an instant, glad of the chance of disposing of it, and told him that was just what I wanted.
“Ah!” said he, with his Indian-pudding accent again, which I will not try to mimic, and abating his look of eagerness, “I thought it was a better article, it’s very old.”
“Not,” said I, starting in surprise, “it’s not been used more than three times; what will you give for it?”
“We don’t buy any thing here,” said he, suddenly looking very indifferent, “this is a place where people pawn things.” Pawn being a word I had never heard before, I asked him what it meant; when he replied, that when people wanted any money, they came to him with their fowling-pieces, and got one third its value, and then left the fowling-piece there, until they were able to pay back the money.
What a benevolent little old man, this must be, thought I, and how very obliging.
“And pray,” said I, “how much will you let me have for my gun, by way of a pawn?”
“Well, I suppose it’s worth six dollars, and seeing you’re a boy, I’ll let you have three dollars upon it”
“No,” exclaimed I, seizing the fowling-piece, “it’s worth five times that, I’ll go somewhere else.”
“Good morning, then,” said he, “I hope you’ll do better,” and he bowed me out as if he expected to see me again pretty soon.