“You ain't got a wooden leg, an' it's kind of a pity, as ye might say, for it's wonderful how this thing helps in business. Lots o' times it helps ye git acquainted, an' that gives ye a chance. Then say, look a-there.” He flung his wooden stump over his knee and felt the surface of it, and explained: “That's where one kid drove a nail in it, an' that's where one fetched a whack with a stove iron, an' there a little red-headed boy bored a hole with his gimlet. Curious how they take to it; an' I don't mind much. Helps business an' makes 'em happy.” He called my attention to many small dents in the wood. “That's where the dogs has bit it,” he went on. “If a dog comes at me, I always put it out to him. It keeps 'em busy.” He showed me a small atomizer, adding, “A little ammonia 'll shift the trouble onto them.” We rose and resumed our journey. I had stored my small stock of Sal in my coat-pockets. “There's the receipt,” said he, gravely, as he handed me a piece of paper. It revealed the fact that Sal was chiefly composed of whiting and ammonia. “All ye need now is a small sponge an' some tissue-paper, an' here's a piece o' chamois that ye can have an' welcome.” He explained his method of applying the Sal, and presently handed me his card, on which I read this legend:= ````JAMES HENRY MCCARTHY ````Commercial Traveller `````Hermon Centre, N. Y.= “I ain't much there,” he went on. “The boys call me Pegleg at home, an' that's one reason I got out. I wish you'd call me Mr. McCarthy, please. I intend to be a gentleman, an' try to be. Can you tell me what a gentleman is?” I looked thoughtful and said nothing. Mr. McCarthy continued: “He's a man that don't git drunk or swear or pare his nails in public, an' always takes off his hat to a lady. He washes his hands before he goes to the table, an' eats kind o' slow an' deliberate, an' maybe smokes a fine cigar after dinner, 'an always does as he'd like to be done by. That's why I'm tryin' to help you along.” I expressed my gratitude in no half-hearted way. “I like you, dinged if I don't,” said Mr. McCarthy, with a kindly patronage. “You'll git along all right--don't worry.” After a moment of silence, he went on: “Ye see, I'm careful about all these things. I keep my eyes an' ears open, an' I'm teachin' myself. I'm a kind of a hand-made gentleman, an' that's the most durable kind. But I ain't finished myself yet. You wait; I'll show ye something one o' these days. How do you happen to be on the road?” I told him my story. “Don't worry,” he went on. “Mr. James Henry McCarthy will see you through. I try to be benevolent.” We walked on a little way in silence.