Slowly he shuffled down the walk and paused in front of the house.

It looked silent and gloomy enough, as though no human soul occupied the
interior.

He was soon rapping at the front door. The woman he had seen enter
answered.

Pushing his way in without ceremony, our Yankee friend seated himself,
and removing his hat, began smoothing the crown with a greasy elbow.

"Well, sir," demanded the woman, "who are you, and what do you wish?"

"Specs, marm, specs," uttered the Yankee, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sir!"

"I've got 'em, a heap of the best specs sold in America."

Then the Yankee drew from an inner pocket a leather case, which he
proceeded to open, displaying a lot of cheap spectacles.

"I kin fit old or young, rich or poor, fat or lean, I'm a ginooine
malefactor o' the human race, a honor to my profession; in fact I'm an
eye doctor, and if you've weak eyes, as I see you hav', let me--"

"Sir, it is useless; I want none of your wares," said the woman, tartly.

"Yeou look sick, madam."