Well, arter he had gin me all the good advice he could, I went back to Aunt Sally’s agin, and got some breakfast; and then I walked all over the town, to see what chance I could find to sell my axe-handles, and things, and to get into business.
After I had walked about three or four hours, I come along towards the upper end of the town, where I found there were stores and shops of all sorts and sizes. And I met a feller, and says I:
“What place is this?”
“Why this,” says he, “is Hucklers’ Row.”
“What,” says I, “are these the stores where the traders in Hucklers’ Row keep?”
And says he: “Yes.”
Well then, says I to myself, I have a pesky good mind to go in and have a try with one of these chaps, and see if they can twist my eye-teeth out. If they can get the best end of a bargain out of me, they can do what there ain’t a man in our place can do; and I should just like to know what sort of stuff these ere Portland chaps are made of. So in I goes into the best-looking store among ’em. And I see some biscuit lying on the shelf, and says I:
“Mister, how much do you ax a piece for them are biscuits?”
“A cent a piece,” says he.
“Well,” says I, “shan’t give you that, but if you’ve a mind to I’ll give you two cents for three of them, for I begin to feel a little as tho’ I would like to take a bite.”