Would he
sit down? He sat down. I did not know anything particular to say, and
yet I felt that people who have arrived at the dignity of keeping house
must be conversational, must be easy and sociable in company. So, in
default of anything else to say, I asked him if he was opening his shop
in our neighborhood.
He said he was. [I did not wish to appear ignorant, but I had hoped he
would mention what he had for sale.]
I ventured to ask him "How was trade?" And he said "So-so."
I then said we would drop in, and if we liked his house as well as any
other, we would give him our custom.
He said he thought we would like his establishment well enough to confine
ourselves to it--said he never saw anybody who would go off and hunt up
another man in his line after trading with him once.
That sounded pretty complacent, but barring that natural expression of
villainy which we all have, the man looked honest enough.
I do not know how it came about exactly, but gradually we appeared to
melt down and run together, conversationally speaking, and then
everything went along as comfortably as clockwork.
We talked, and talked, and talked--at least I did; and we laughed, and
laughed, and laughed--at least he did.
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