“Never you mind about the window,” said the boy, “nor, to be honor bright, about the traveler’s lock either, (though I ain’t sorry for selling one), do you just buy one of these little jokers,” producing a number of suspender-like objects, which he dangled before the old man; “money-belts, sir; only fifty cents.”
“Money-belt? never heard of such a thing.”
“A sort of pocket-book,” said the boy, “only a safer sort. Very good for travelers.”
“Oh, a pocket-book. Queer looking pocket-books though, seems to me. Ain’t they rather long and narrow for pocket-books?”
“They go round the waist, sir, inside,” said the boy “door open or locked, wide awake on your feet or fast asleep in your chair, impossible to be robbed with a money-belt.”
“I see, I see. It would be hard to rob one’s money-belt. And I was told to-day the Mississippi is a bad river for pick-pockets. How much are they?”
“Only fifty cents, sir.”
“I’ll take one. There!”
“Thank-ee. And now there’s a present for ye,” with which, drawing from his breast a batch of little papers, he threw one before the old man, who, looking at it, read “Counterfeit Detector.”
“Very good thing,” said the boy, “I give it to all my customers who trade seventy-five cents’ worth; best present can be made them. Sell you a money-belt, sir?” turning to the cosmopolitan.