He asked what kind of a show I'd give him.
I told him we charged ten dollars for the General Agency for each county and we would supply him with the polish, or he could have the recipe for making it by paying twenty-five dollars. He said he had no money and there was no use talking.
I asked how much our bill would be for staying over night.
"Two dollars," was his reply.
"Very well, then, we can fix the money part. Which do you prefer, the General Agency or the recipe?"
He said he wanted the recipe.
"You can just give us credit then, for the two dollars and pay us fifty cents in cash and you will owe us twenty-two and one-half dollars which you can pay after you have made it."
His wife said that was fair. He said he hadn't the fifty cents, but they would give us a chicken for the difference.
As we had been accustomed to trading anything and everything we explained that the fowl was right in our line, and immediately closed the deal and left with it. The reader may be assured that we congratulated ourselves on our narrow escape. The man still owes the balance,—in fact I forgot to leave him my address, so he could send it.
We had consumed nearly a half day wrestling with our farmer friend to effect a deal, and immediately started out with renewed vigor and the chicken with its legs securely tied and under the wagon seat.