The little man was dressed in the “shabby-genteel” style, a costume much in vogue at that day among men of his cloth, as combining plainness enough for the country-folk, with sufficient gentility to keep them on speaking terms with the more fashionable denizens of the then metropolis. The little man seemed in no way disconcerted by Peter’s searching gaze, and a close observer might have perceived a slight smile on his lip, as he read the thoughts of our hero’s bosom. His self-confidence, his pride, his affected ease and knowing air, were all comprehended, and ere a word had passed the lion knew well the character of his prey. In the purchase of the cotton, however, the little man sought no advantage, and even offered our hero a better price than any one else in the city would have given him. To our hero’s credit, be it said, he was not loth to accept the offer; 15 1/2 cents was above the market, by at least a quarter, and the old man had told him to let it slide at fifteen rather than not sell, so the bargain was closed, and our hero and the “Gimblit-man” went out into the yard to settle. Seating himself on a cotton-bale, the buyer counted out the money, which our hero made safe in his pocket, after seeing that it was “_giniwine_,” and tallied with the amount stated in the bill of sale. A few sweet pills of flattery administered to our hero, soon made him and the Gimblit-man sworn friends; and it was in consideration of his high regard, that the Gimblit-man consented to initiate him into the mysteries of a certain game, yclept “Thimble Rig,” a game which, our hero was told, would yield him much sport, if successfully played up at home among the boys; and would, when properly managed, be to him a never-failing source of that desirable article, “pocket-change.” To this proposition our hero readily assented, delighted with the idea of playing off upon the boys up at home, who hadn’t been to Augusty; and already began to revel in the visions of full pockets, when, to his silent horror, the little man took from his pocket a hundred-dollar bill, and very irreverently rolled it into a small round ball. Three thimbles were next produced, and the game began. “Now,” said the little man, “I am going to hide this little ball under one of these thimbles, all before your eyes, and I want you to guess where it is.” “Well,” said Peter, “go it—I’m ready,” and the shifting game begun. To the apparent astonishment of the little man, our hero guessed right every time. No matter how rapid the changes, Peter invariably lifted the thimble from the ball, and had begun to grow disgusted with the game, little dreaming how soon he was to prove its efficacy as a source of revenue, when the little man suddenly checked his hand. “Wrong,” said he, with a friendly smile; “the ball is not under the middle thimble, but under that next you.”