“Nothing.”
“How would you like to work for me?”
“Doing what?”
“Selling my medicines.”
“Done!” cried I, joyfully.
“Hold hup!” said he, quickly. “I ain’t quite certain. Can you patter?”
“Can I what?”
“Gab, I mean—talk? Are you good on that?”
“I think I am,” I answered, modestly.
“And ’ave you got plenty of cheek?”