belongs to the person that gets that leg on and feels the consciousness creeping over his soul that it is his.  Consequently, I say that when I offer it to you I’m doing a personal favor; and I think I see you jump at the chance and want to clinch the bargain before I mention—­you’ll hardly believe it, I know—­that I’ll actually knock that leg down to you at four hundred dollars.  Four hundred, did I say?  I meant six hundred; but let it stand.  I never back out when I make an offer; but it’s just throwing that leg away—­it is, indeed.”

“But I don’t want an artificial leg,” said Brown.

“The beautiful thing about the limb,” said the stranger, pulling up his trousers and displaying the article, “is that it is reliable.  You kin depend on it.  It’s always there.  Some legs that I’ve seen were treacherous—­most always some of the springs bursting out, or the joints working backward, or the toes turning down and ketching in things.  Regular frauds.  But it’s almost pathetic the way this leg goes on year in and year out like an old faithful friend, never knowing an ache or a pain, no rheumatism, nor any such foolishness as that, but always good-natured and ready to go out of its way to oblige you.  A man feels like a man when he gets such a thing under him.  Talk about your kings and emperors and millionaires, and all that sort of nonsense!  Which of ’em’s got a leg like that?  Which of ’em kin unscrew his knee-pan and look at the gum thingamajigs in his calf?  Which of ’em kin leave his leg down stairs in the entry on the hat-rack and go to bed with only one cold foot?  Why, it’s enough to make one of them monarchs sick to think of such a convenience.  But they can’t help it.  There’s only one man kin buy that leg, and that’s you.  I want you to have it so bad that I’ll deed it to you for fifty dollars down.  Awful, isn’t it?  Just throwing it away; but take it, take it, if it does make my heart bleed to see it go out of the family.”

“Really, I have no use for such a thing,” said Mr. Brown.

“You can’t think,” urged the stranger, “what a benediction a leg like that is in a family.  When you don’t want to walk with it, it comes into play for the children to ride horsey on; or you kin take it off and stir the fire with it in a way that would depress the spirits of a man with a real leg.  It makes the most efficient potato-masher you ever saw.  Work it from the second joint and let the knee swing loose; you kin tack carpets perfectly splendid with the heel; and when a cat sees it coming at him from the winder, he just adjourns sine die and goes down off the fence screaming.  Now, you’re probably afeard of dogs.  When you see one approaching, you always change your base.  I don’t blame you; I used to be that way before I lost my home-made leg.  But you fix yourself with this artificial extremity, and then what do you care for dogs?  If a million of ’em come at you, what’s the odds?  You merely stand still and smile, and