"I aint got no corns," he said.
"Then go along, and don't bother me. You're no good."
A young dandy advanced, dressed in the height of fashion, swinging a light cane in his lavender-gloved hand. A rose was in his button-hole, and he was just in the act of saluting a young lady, when Sam thrust a circular into his hand.
"Go right upstairs," he said, "and get your corns cured. Only a dollar."
The young lady burst into a ringing laugh, and the mortified dandy reddened with mortification.
"Keep your dirty paper to yourself, boy," he said. "I am not troubled with those—ah, excrescences."
"I never heard of them things," said Sam. "I said corns."
"Stand out of my way, boy, or I'll cane you," exclaimed the incensed fop.
"Your cane wouldn't hurt," said Sam, regarding the slight stick with disdain. "Never mind; you needn't go up. I don't believe you've got a dollar."
This was rather impudent in Sam, I acknowledge; and the dandy would have been glad to chastise him.