This may be the truth, or may not. If it is, “L” is 2 and “K” is 5, and “X” means “repeat.” So by and by I find a box marked B.L.K., and I ask the cost of that. He answers, $1.25. I am now sure that B is 1, L is 2 and K is 5, and I can easily guess that A and C are 3 and 4. By finding boxes with other letters on, and learning from the boy what the mark is, I soon have “Black horse” as the cost mark in that store. I make a note of this in my trip book so that I can use it when I am here again, or when our other man is here. My way now is tolerably smooth. If he really needs goods the merchant will be willing to order at prices paid before; if he thinks he does not need anything I may tempt him by quoting prices a little under what he paid. In either case I am in good shape to make a fight for an order; thanks to the clerk's loose tongue and lack of sense. A customer comes in and wants a file. I listen to the conversation, trying to get hold of any hint that may be useful to me by and by. Another man wants a box of cartridges. My ears are wide open now. “Have you the 'U.S.'?” “U.S.--U.S. What do you mean?” asks the clerk. “I want the kind with U.S. on the end.” “What good is that?” “Good to go. I like that kind. Have you got them?” “I don't know; yes; no, they ain't either! They're U.M.C.” “Don't want 'em!” Now I was temporarily selling the U.S. cartridge, so I made a note of what the man said, to be used on Tucker, but I took up the conversation and convinced the customer that the U.M.C. make of cartridges was good; he finally bought a box and went off apparently satisfied. Just then Tucker came in. I made some laughing allusion to pig-headed customers, and the clerk at once opened up on the “fool” who thought one cartridge was better than another. When the young man was back at his stove I started out to sell Tucker a bill. He was backward about buying; didn't know our house; always bought of Simmons; did not like to have so many bills; always got favors from Simmons, and despised our city on general principles. I agreed with him on every point, but (Oh! these “buts”) I also wanted an order. I took out my bull-dog revolver that was selling at $2.85; he had none like it in stock; it was the leading pistol, retailing readily at $4 to $5, according to locality. “I want to send you a few of these at a special net price,” said I; “the regular price is $3; I will sell you at $2.85.” I said this as if I was making him a present of a gold watch. “I wouldn't have the d--n things as a gift,” said he. CHAPTER III.