“You needn't do any quoting; I'll make prices and you expatiate on the goods.”
We started down the street to Madley's, and I was introduced to the gentleman, a fussy, garrulous little man with an extremely red face. Bingham opened the ball, and I never listened to more talented drumming than he did that morning.
“Chris,” said he, “this young man is offering target rifles at a cut price that knocks anything ever known. The boys have been buying them very freely of late, and they are popular. I fancied they might hit you as a gift with a boy's suit. If you can handle them I don't want any profit, but am getting other goods from him, and you can ship with my goods.”
“What are they worth?”
“Well, you have as much of an idea of the worth of a rifle as any one else has; suppose you were going to buy one for your boy, what would you expect to pay?”
“I don't know anything about them.”
“Oh, you've got some idea and I want to get it, for you will not be very different from the average man in your estimate of cost.”
“Oh, d—-n it, say $10; but I can't handle any such goods.”
“We don't ask you to at $10. But that is about the average idea regarding price. Now, Chris, this man's price is $3.12.”
It struck me this was getting mighty close to “cost!”