shop.

"No, I thank you," replied Dick, "as the fly said to the spider."

"We're selling off at less than cost."

"Of course you be. That's where you makes your money," said Dick.
"There aint nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any
profit on his goods."

The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didn't
quite comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed
on with his companion.

In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on.

"I am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair
of doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth. It's a frightful
sacrifice. Who'll give an eighth? Thank you, sir. Only seventeen
shillings! Why the cloth cost more by the yard!"

This speaker was standing on a little platform haranguing to three
men, holding in his hand meanwhile a pair of pants very loose in
the legs, and presenting a cheap Bowery look.

Frank and Dick paused before the shop door, and finally saw them
knocked down to rather a verdant-looking individual at three
dollars.

"Clothes seem to be pretty cheap here," said Frank.