The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didn’t quite comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed on with his companion.

In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on.

“I am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair of doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth.  It’s a frightful sacrifice.  Who’ll give an eighth?  Thank you, sir.  Only seventeen shillings!  Why the cloth cost more by the yard!”

This speaker was standing on a little platform haranguing to three men, holding in his hand meanwhile a pair of pants very loose in the legs, and presenting a cheap Bowery look.

Frank and Dick paused before the shop door, and finally saw them knocked down to rather a verdant-looking individual at three dollars.

“Clothes seem to be pretty cheap here,” said Frank.

“Yes, but Baxter Street is the cheapest place.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.  Johnny Nolan got a whole rig-out there last week, for a dollar,—­coat, cap, vest, pants, and shoes.  They was very good measure, too, like my best clothes that I took off to oblige you.”

“I shall know where to come for clothes next time,” said Frank, laughing.  “I had no idea the city was so much cheaper than the country.  I suppose the Baxter Street tailors are fashionable?”

“In course they are.  Me and Horace Greeley always go there for clothes.  When Horace gets a new suit, I always have one made just like it; but I can’t go the white hat.  It aint becomin’ to my style of beauty.”

A little farther on a man was standing out on the sidewalk, distributing small printed handbills.  One was handed to Frank, which he read as follows,—­

“Grand closing-out sale!—­A variety of Beautiful and Costly Articles for Sale, at a Dollar apiece.  Unparalleled Inducements!  Walk in, Gentlemen!”

“Whereabouts is this sale?” asked Frank.

“In here, young gentlemen,” said a black-whiskered individual, who appeared suddenly on the scene.  “Walk in.”

“Shall we go in, Dick?”

“It’s a swindlin’ shop,” said Dick, in a low voice.  “I’ve been there.  That man’s a regular cheat.  He’s seen me before, but he don’t know me coz of my clothes.”

“Step in and see the articles,” said the man, persuasively.  “You needn’t buy, you know.”

“Are all the articles worth more’n a dollar?” asked Dick.

“Yes,” said the other, “and some worth a great deal more.”

“Such as what?”

“Well, there’s a silver pitcher worth twenty dollars.”

“And you sell it for a dollar.  That’s very kind of you,” said Dick, innocently.

“Walk in, and you’ll understand it.”

“No, I guess not,” said Dick.  “My servants is so dishonest that I wouldn’t like to trust ’em with a silver pitcher.  Come along, Frank.  I hope you’ll succeed in your charitable enterprise of supplyin’ the public with silver pitchers at nineteen dollars less than they are worth.”