s
all safe?"

"I suppose so, child," said the old man.

"Of course it is, my fine fellow," said the cosmopolitan.

"All safe. Well. Now, about two o'clock in the morning, say, a
soft-handed gentleman comes softly and tries the knob here--thus; in
creeps my soft-handed gentleman; and hey, presto! how comes on the soft
cash?"

"I see, I see, child," said the old man; "your fine gentleman is a fine
thief, and there's no lock to your little door to keep him out;" with
which words he peered at it more closely than before.

"Well, now," again showing his white teeth, "well, now, some of you old
folks are knowing 'uns, sure enough; but now comes the great invention,"
producing a small steel contrivance, very simple but ingenious, and
which, being clapped on the inside of the little door, secured it as
with a bolt. "There now," admiringly holding it off at arm's-length,
"there now, let that soft-handed gentleman come now a' softly trying
this little knob here, and let him keep a' trying till he finds his head
as soft as his hand. Buy the traveler's patent lock, sir, only
twenty-five cents."

"Dear me," cried the old man, "this beats printing. Yes, child, I will
have one, and use it this very night."

With the phlegm of an old banker pouching the change, the boy now turned
to the other: "Sell you one, sir?"

"Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use such blacksmiths' things."

"Those who give the blacksmith most work seldom do," said the boy,
tipping him a wink expressive of a degree of indefinite knowingness, not
uninteresting to consider in one of his years. But the wink was not
marked by the old man, nor, to all appearances, by him for whom it was
intended.

"Now then," said the boy, again addressing the old man. "With your
traveler's lock on your door to-night, you will think yourself all safe,
won't you?"

"I think I will, child."

"But how about the window?"

"Dear me, the window, child. I never thought of that. I must see to
that."

"Never you mind about the window," said the boy, "nor, to be honor
bright, about the traveler's lock either, (though I ain't sorry for
selling one), do you just buy one of these little jokers," producing a
number of suspender-like objects, which he dangled before the old man;
"money-belts, sir; only fifty cents."

"Money-belt? never heard of such a thing."

"A sort of pocket-book," said the boy, "only a safer sort. Very good for
travelers."

"Oh, a pocket-book. Queer