"I don't want any. I got some of Layton. The house can't fool me
again."

I sat down on the counter and gave him fourteen reasons for his order
not having been filled (I hope some of them were true), and then I
pulled out a "Pet" revolver and asked him if seventy-five cents was
not mighty low for that.

He admitted that it was, but he had bought of Layton five cents lower.
Then I explained wherein Layton's was ten cents poorer than mine (I
hadn't seen his), and why he ought to give mine the preference. What
had he paid for 32-caliber?

"One twenty-five."

I drew out mine at $1.20, and I convinced him that mine was a better
pistol than his, although he said he had already more than he ought to
have and he would not buy more. Then I placed an automatic ejector
under his eyes, threw out the shells, cocked it and snapped it, and
explained how, though it cost us $6.70, I was going to sell him some
at $6.

"No, you ain't," said he, "I've got two on hand and can't give them
away."

By this time it struck me I was making but little headway and was
wasting my breath in praising goods he already had, so I concluded the
best plan to go on was to see what he had, and govern myself
accordingly. He seemed to have everything, confound him! There was