nothing he had not bought in the thirty days, and I began to think I
could use my time better somewhere else, when a man came in to buy a
gun, and I stepped aside to watch the subsequent proceedings.

The story told by that retailer about those guns would have made a dog
howl, if it were not for the fact that he believed every word of it.
The farmer wanted a good muzzle loader, but wanted it choke-bored! The
retailer brought down seven different guns, all of them choke-bored!
and expatiated upon their cheapness and good qualities. Some reference
was made to me, as being a gun man, and I was drawn into the
conversation. I explained the merits of guns to that farmer in a way
that pleased him mightily. I could see that, but he finally said he
didn't intend to buy a gun that day, but would some time in the fall,
and he passed calmly out.

I looked at Mr. Jordan, and he looked at me. "Are you mad?" I asked.

"No; I'm used to it."

"Then try a cigar."

As we smoked and discussed mean customers, I put in some good licks
for my house, and by and by heard Jordan say:

"I lied to you about those bull-dogs; I didn't buy any of Layton; you
may send me six."