is
head.

"What would you be willing to give for it?"

"I'll give you a dollar for it."

"No, sir, I couldn't think of selling it at any such price as that. I
would give it away before I would sell it for that," replied Leo,
indignant at having his work so grossly undervalued.

"I will give you two dollars for it. I have a little lame boy at home,
who can't go out, and I am willing to give two for it."

"I will not sell it for less than five dollars, sir."

"Why, that's a rascally price!" exclaimed the proposed purchaser. "Five
dollars for a mere rat-trap!"

"That's my lowest price, sir. If you don't want it, the law don't
compel you to take it," added Leo, vexed to have the person run down
his handiwork.

The gentleman backed out of the crowd, and disappeared. Leo thought he
could not care much for his little lame boy, if he was not willing to
pay five dollars for such an elegant establishment as the "_Hotel des
Mice_," which could not help being a very great pleasure to the
invalid. Half a dozen others looked into the palace, asked questions
about the habits of the mice, and inquired the price of the house and
its inmates. Leo answered them all very politely; but they laughed and
sneered when he mentioned the six dollars.

The "mouse business" did not seem so prosperous as Leo had anticipated.
He had been confident that a dozen persons would want the elegant
establishment, and he was not quite sure there would not be a quarrel
among them for the possession of it at the price he named. He could not
see why these rich merchants and bankers should haggle at six dollars
if they had any children at home. His heart began to feel heavy in his
bosom, for he had expected to sell his present stock of merchandise as
soon as he named the price, and to find half a dozen more who would
want them badly enough to give him advance orders.

There appeared to be a discount on the mouse business. The gentlemen in
State Street were singularly cold and wanting in enthusiasm on the
subject of white mice. It began to look like a failure, and Tom Casey
seemed to be a true prophet. What an inglorious termination to his
career as a mouse merchant it would be to drag the palace back to No. 3
Phillimore Court, and tell Maggie that no one would buy it, even at the
moderate price of five dollars!

But Leo soon realized that he was becoming chicken-hearted; that he was
almost in despair even before he had been half an hour in the field