A wrinkled old man--the proprietor--stood outside, scanning, with cunning eyes, the passers-by. If any one paused to examine his stock, he was immediately assailed by voluble recommendations of this or that article, and urgently entreated to "just step inside." When Sam approached, the old man's shrewdness was at fault. He did not suspect that the ragged street boy was likely to become a customer, and merely suffered his glance to rest upon him casually. But Sam accosted him with a business-like manner. "Look here, old man, have you got any tiptop clo'es to sell to-day?" "Yes, my son," answered the old man, with an air of alacrity. "Who are you a-takin' to? I ain't your son, and I wouldn't be. My father's a member of Congress." "Did he send you here to buy clo'es?" asked the old man, with a grin. "Yes, he did. He said you'd let me have 'em half price." "So I will, my--boy. This is the cheapest place in the city." "Well, old man, trot out your best suits. I want 'em in the style, you know." "I know that from your looks," said the old man, a grin illumining his wrinkled face, as he glanced at the rags Sam wore. "Oh, you needn't look at these. My best clo'es is to home in the wardrobe. What have you got for shirts?" A red-flannel article was displayed; but Sam didn't like the color. "It ain't fashionable," he said. "Here's a blue one," said the old man. "That's more like, how much is it?" "Fifty cents." "Fifty cents! Do you want to ruin me? I won't give no fifty cents for a shirt." "It's worth more. It cost me forty-five." "I'll give thirty-five." After some haggling the price was accepted, and the article was laid aside. "Now show me some of your nice suits," said Sam. "I've got a place, and I want to look like a gentleman." "Have you got any money?" asked the old man, with the momentary suspicion that he might be throwing his time and trouble away upon a penniless purchaser. "Yes," said Sam. "What do you take me for?" "How much have you got?" "What do you want to know for?" "I want to know what clo'es to show you." Sam was about to answer five dollars, when a shrewd thought changed his intention. "I've got four dollars," he said. Even this was beyond the expectations of the dealer. "All right, my son," he said. "I'll give you some nice clo'es for four dollars." "You'd better if you want me to come here again. If you do well by me I'll get all my clo'es here." A young man of fashion could not have spoken more condescendingly, or with an air of greater importance than Sam. He was right in thinking that his patronage was of importance to the old man. "I'll dress you so fine the gals will look at you as you go along the street," he said. "Go ahead!" said Sam. "Do your best by me, and I'll send my friends here."