“I am sorry I can’t help you. I don’t know any such man. Hadn’t you better let me show you a pair of boots?”
“No; I don’t need any,” said Joshua, and, disappointed a second time, beat a retreat.
“It’s strange Sam Crawford isn’t any better known,” thought Joshua. “I should think those that keep stores in the same street would know him.”
My readers may conclude that Joshua was very verdant, but the fact was that he had lived all his lifetime in a country village, where everybody knew everybody else, and this will help to account for his limited knowledge of life.
“I wish I had Sam’s letter,” he said to himself; “it would save me a good deal of trouble.”
In the next store the young man to whom he addressed his stereotyped question prided himself on being a wag, and, perceiving that Joshua was from the country, resolved to have a little fun with him.
“Sam Crawford!” he repeated. “He’s a young man, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Dark hair?”
“Yes.”