"How much do you want for that job?" I asked.
"Oh, two bits will hold you," he said carelessly.
"Any experience required?" I asked again.
"No, I guess even you'll do for that," he answered cuttingly.
So I parted with my last quarter and was sent to a Sheeny store in Broadway. Here I was given a vociferous banner announcing:
"Great retiring sale," and so forth.
With this hoisted I sallied forth, at first very conscious and not a little ashamed. Yet by and by this feeling wore off, and I wandered up and down with no sense of my employment, which, after all, was one adapted to philosophic thought. I might have gone through the day in this blissful coma of indifference had not a casual glance at my banner thrilled me with horror. There it was in hideous, naked letters of red:
"Retireing Sale."
I reeled under the shock. I did not mind packing a banner, but a misspelt one....
I hurried back to the store, resolved to throw up my position. Luckily the day was well advanced, and as I had served my purpose I was given a silver dollar.