“I haven't much money—only sixteen cents,” I answered, with embarrassment, remembering that I had just paid three cents for postage.
He looked me over from head to foot, and said, “I'll trust ye, if ye'd like to try it.”
“All right,” I said.
He opened his little grip and counted out ten of the small balls and as many large ones.
“There,” said he, “ye ought to be able to sell 'em all in a day. Then you can send me a dollar for the receipt.”
“How do you go to work to sell it?” I asked.
“The towns are best,” said he. “When I get to a town I make a little map of the main streets and put down the names—the hotel man is always glad to help you. By-an'-by I begin to ring the door-bells. I don't ask for the lady of the house—no, sir; I say, 'Is Mrs. Smith at home?' It works grand—there she is. 'Kind lady,' says I, 'I'm introducin' Sal, who cleans silverware, glassware, etc. Sal is better than a hired girl.'
“Don't forget to say that it makes the home bright and beautiful. It's a nice chunk o' language an' tells just what the women are trying to do. Course she says, 'No, thanks.' Then says I, 'If you've any old piece o' tarnished silver, I'd like to make a little exhibition. As the poet says:
'“I'll make it shine
As brightly as those eyes of thine.'