“I want black—something of something,” he said; “have you got any?”
“Probably we have,” replied the clerk, “but you’ll have to be more definite than that to get it.”
The farmer thought for a moment.
“Got any black sheepskin of something?” he asked.
“No; we don’t keep sheepskins. We have chamois-skins, though.”
“That ain’t it, I know,” said the customer. “Got any other kind of skins?”
“No.”
“Skins—skins—skins!” slowly repeated the man, struggling with his slippery memory. “Calfskin seems to be something like it. Got any black calfskins of anything?”
“No, not one,” and the clerk laughed.
The customer grew red in the face.