“I'll sell you the receipt for a dollar,” said the boy with a wooden leg. “Fifty cents' worth of material will make a hundred balls. They sell like hot cakes--ten cents for the small sizes, twenty-five for the large.” “I haven't much money--only sixteen cents,” I answered, with embarrassment, remembering that I had just paid three cents for postage. He looked me over from head to foot, and said, “I'll trust ye, if ye'd like to try it.” “All right,” I said. He opened his little grip and counted out ten of the small balls and as many large ones. “There,” said he, “ye ought to be able to sell 'em all in a day. Then you can send me a dollar for the receipt.” “How do you go to work to sell it?” I asked. “The towns are best,” said he. “When I get to a town I make a little map of the main streets and put down the names--the hotel man is always glad to help you. By-an'-by I begin to ring the door-bells. I don't ask for the lady of the house--no, sir; I say, 'Is Mrs. Smith at home?' It works grand--there she is. 'Kind lady,' says I, 'I'm introducin' Sal, who cleans silverware, glassware, etc. Sal is better than a hired girl.' “Don't forget to say that it makes the home bright and beautiful. It's a nice chunk o' language an' tells just what the women are trying to do. Course she says, 'No, thanks.' Then says I, 'If you've any old piece o' tarnished silver, I'd like to make a little exhibition. As the poet says:= `````'”I'll make it shine ```As brightly as those eyes of thine.'= “Throw in a little portry once in a while. It sounds good an' is easy to remember. But ye got to be careful. Some don't like it. Women that wear aprons an' rings an' breastpins, an' have their sleeves rolled up, 'll generally stand portry, 'specially if they've got curly hair. Look out for handsome women that wear diamonds an' set around with their feet up readin' portry.' Seems so them that read portry get enough of it. Don't ever give 'em any of yours. “Women are funny. Around here there's two kinds of 'em--insiders an' outsiders. The outsiders talk about their neighbors; the insiders talk about their livers an' lungs, an' so on. I know one that talks about her liver shameful. You'd think it was the meanest thing in the world. “They ain't all alike. In some places you'll find 'em perched in their fam'ly trees. Lord! I know one that sets an' chirps by the hour in her fam'ly tree. You've got to let her go it, an' bym-by, maybe, you can bring her down to the fam'ly tea-pot. If so, you're all right. It's wonderful how they go on. You'll enjoy it, an' that's half the battle. “Be sure to notice the children. I always let 'em fool with my wooden leg. Sometimes I put one end on a chair an' let 'em set on it. I suppose this old leg has been set on an' abused more than any leg in the world.