Part 7 (2/2)
”I shall know where to come for clothes next time,” said Frank, laughing. ”I had no idea the city was so much cheaper than the country. I suppose the Baxter Street tailors are fas.h.i.+onable?”
”In course they are. Me and Horace Greeley always go there for clothes. When Horace gets a new suit, I always have one made just like it; but I can't go the white hat. It aint becomin' to my style of beauty.”
A little farther on a man was standing out on the sidewalk, distributing small printed handbills. One was handed to Frank, which he read as follows,--
”GRAND CLOSING-OUT SALE!--A variety of Beautiful and Costly Articles for Sale, at a Dollar apiece. Unparalleled Inducements!
Walk in, Gentlemen!”
”Whereabouts is this sale?” asked Frank.
”In here, young gentlemen,” said a black-whiskered individual, who appeared suddenly on the scene. ”Walk in.”
”Shall we go in, d.i.c.k?”
”It's a swindlin' shop,” said d.i.c.k, in a low voice. ”I've been there. That man's a regular cheat. He's seen me before, but he don't know me coz of my clothes.”
”Step in and see the articles,” said the man, persuasively. ”You needn't buy, you know.”
”Are all the articles worth more'n a dollar?” asked d.i.c.k.
”Yes,” said the other, ”and some worth a great deal more.”
”Such as what?”
”Well, there's a silver pitcher worth twenty dollars.”
”And you sell it for a dollar. That's very kind of you,” said d.i.c.k, innocently.
”Walk in, and you'll understand it.”
”No, I guess not,” said d.i.c.k. ”My servants is so dishonest that I wouldn't like to trust 'em with a silver pitcher. Come along, Frank.
I hope you'll succeed in your charitable enterprise of supplyin'
the public with silver pitchers at nineteen dollars less than they are worth.”
”How does he manage, d.i.c.k?” asked Frank, as they went on.
”All his articles are numbered, and he makes you pay a dollar, and then shakes some dice, and whatever the figgers come to, is the number of the article you draw. Most of 'em aint worth sixpence.”
A hat and cap store being close at hand, d.i.c.k and Frank went in. For seventy-five cents, which Frank insisted on paying, d.i.c.k succeeded in getting quite a neat-looking cap, which corresponded much better with his appearance than the one he had on. The last, not being considered worth keeping, d.i.c.k dropped on the sidewalk, from which, on looking back, he saw it picked up by a brother boot-black who appeared to consider it better than his own.
They retraced their steps and went up Chambers Street to Broadway.
At the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street is a large white marble warehouse, which attracted Frank's attention.
”What building is that?” he asked, with interest.
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