“Buy something to-day? Nice goots, ver’ cheap,” said a voice in broken English, and a pedler stood on the broad step and swung two heavy packs down to the floor, while he wiped his face and asked if he might get some water from the well.
“‘Buy something to-day? Nice goots ver’ cheap.’”
“Certainly, ’nless you’d prefer milk,” said Mrs. Lane, cheerfully, for she was naturally cheerful and generous, unless she was imposed upon. The pedler, a foreigner, had a full-moon face, that looked both young and tired, two things that always appealed to her, besides which his packs were temptingly fat, and she had a weakness for pedlers. So after getting the milk, she leaned back in her rocker, folded her arms, and prepared to enjoy the exhibition, saying in the same breath: “I don’t know as I care to buy. What have you got?”
The packs contained a little of everything in addition to the usual tinsel jewellery and cheap finery which she motioned aside, while she selected half a dozen gingham shirts, the overalls, which the man assured her truthfully were only what the goods would cost in the village, and some stout red handkerchiefs.
“You don’d need trouble vit him,” he said, pointing to the tattered trousers. “I sells you somedings vot you can make down schmall,” said the pedler, growing confidential and pulling a stout pair of long pants from a separate compartment in his pack. “Only a dollar, and I give the schentlemens ninety cents for him,—yes, I did. I keep dem for mineself if I home vas going, but I joust stard out. Only von dollar, and only von leetle place broke.”
“I don’t like to trust to buy second-hand clothes; nobody knows what kind of folks have wore ’em,” objected Mrs. Lane, yet at the same time fingering the substantial goods lovingly. “Where are they tore?”
“Here it vas, joust by der side leg ver you can schmaller make him, and so help me gracious it vas no dirdy peoples wore dem. It vas a rich mans to sell so fine a pants for ninety cents for such a break. Maybe you knows him alretty, for he live”—pointing eastward—“in a big what you call red house by the road there farther.”