One was
a young woman, whose pale face and sunken cheeks showed that she
was waging an unequal conflict with disease. She was a seamstress by
occupation, and had to work fifteen hours a day to earn the little that
was barely sufficient to keep body and soul together. Confined in her
close little room on the fourth floor, she scarcely dared to snatch time
to look out of the window into the street beneath, lest she should
not be able to complete her allotted task. A two days' sickness had
compelled her to have recourse to Eliakim Henderson. She had under her
arm a small bundle covered with an old copy of the Sun.

"What have you got there?" asked the old man, roughly. "Show it quick,
for there's others waiting."

Meekly she unfolded a small shawl, somewhat faded from long use.

"What will you give me on that?" she asked, timidly.

"It isn't worth much."

"It cost five dollars."

"Then you got cheated. It never was worth half the money. What do you
want on it?"

The seamstress intended to ask a dollar and a half, but after this
depreciation she did not venture to name so high a figure.

"A dollar and a quarter," she said.

"A dollar and a quarter!" repeated the old man, shrilly. "Take it home
with you. I don't want it."

"What will you give?" asked the poor girl, faintly.

"Fifty cents. Not a penny more."

"Fifty cents!" she repeated, in dismay, and was about to refold it. But
the thought of her rent in arrears changed her half-formed intention.

"I'll take it, sir."

The money and ticket were handed her, and she went back to her miserable
attic-room, coughing as she went.

"Now, ma'am," said Eliakim.

His new customer was an Irish woman, by no means consumptive in
appearance, red of face and portly of figure.

"And what'll ye be givin' me for this?" she asked, displaying a pair of
pantaloons.

"Are they yours, ma'am?" asked Eliakim, with a chuckle.

"It's not Bridget McCarty that wears the breeches," said that lady.
"It's me husband's, and a dacent, respectable man he is, barrin' the
drink, which turns his head. What'll ye give for 'em?"

"Name your price," said Eliakim, whose principle it was to insist upon
his customers making the first offer.

"Twelve shillin's," said Bridget.

"Twelve shillings!" exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands. "That's
all they cost when they were new."

"They cost every cint of five dollars," said Bridget. "They was made at
one of the most fashionable shops in