“No,” says the young chap, “I show people how my machine works; if they want it, I sell it; and if they don’t, I leave.”
“How much is your machine?” says Josiah.
“75 dollars.”
“Can’t you,” says Josiah, “because I look so much like your old father, or because I am a Methodist, or because my wife’s mother used to live neighbor to your grandmother—let me have it for 25 dollars?”
The feller got up on his wagon, and turned his machine round so we could see it plain—it was a beauty—and says he:
“You see this machine, sir; I think it is the best one made, although there is no great difference between this and the one over there; but I think what difference there is, is in this one’s favor. You can have it for 75 dollars if you want it; if not, I will drive on.”
“How do you like the looks on it, Samantha?”
Says I, “It is the kind I wanted to git.”
Josiah took out his wallet, and counted out 75 dollars, and says he:
“Put that machine into that wagon where Samantha is.”