I probably looked as disappointed as I felt, for Whipper's voice took on a very sympathetic tone. “You could not touch $2.70?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
I felt like adding, “I can't touch anything; I'm going home.”
“What is your price on cartridges?”
“Combination price; same as every one else.”
“Is this your first trip?”
“Yes, and my last. I'm not cut out for the road. I don't suppose I could sell you anything even if you wanted it; I'm not a success.”
“Pooh; pooh! I've been on the road myself; it is not always fair sailing, and it is not always foul. Keep a stiff upper lip.”
Yes, keep a stiff upper lip, when goods were being sold at cost all around you! I was not built that way. Just then the book-keeper, Tom, handed a memo to Whipper and he turned to me. “Have you Quickenbush rifles?”
“Yes; blued and plated. Regular price, $5. I'll make you special price if you want any.”