“What is it?” I asked.
“What is it?” he answered., with dignity. “That, sir, is Sal.”
“Sal?” said I
“Sal,” said he, with a fond look at one of the white balls which now lay in his hand. “Sal cleans and polishes silverware, glassware, gold, brass, and pewter; removes dirt from woodwork and makes the home bright and beautiful.”
He spoke this lingo as if it were some passage from a book of poetry, and paused to note its effect upon me.
“What is your line?” he asked.
“I'm on my way West to find employment,” said I.
“How would you like to take Sal with you?” he asked.
“I don't know,” was my answer.
“I'll sell you the receipt for a dollar,” said the boy with a wooden leg. “Fifty cents' worth of material will make a hundred balls. They sell like hot cakes—ten cents for the small sizes, twenty-five for the large.”