"Buy some candy?" said she to a good-natured young gentleman, who
was leaning over his counter waiting for a customer.
"How do you sell it?"
"Cent a stick; it is very nice. I sold fourteen sticks of it to
the mayor this forenoon. He said it was good."
"You don't say so? Did he give you a testimonial?"
"No; he gave me half a dollar."
The clerk laughed heartily at Katy's misapprehension of his word,
and his eye twinkled with mischief. It was plain that he was not
a great admirer of molasses candy, and that he only wanted to
amuse himself at Katy's expense.
"You know what they do with quack medicines--don't you?"
"Yes, I do; some folks are fools enough to take them," replied
Katy, smartly.
"That's a fact; but you don't understand me. Dr. Swindlehanger,
round the corner, would give the mayor a hundred dollars to say
his patent elixir is good. Now, if you could only get the mayor's
name on a paper setting forth the virtues of your candy, I dare
say you could sell a thousand sticks in a day. Why don't you ask
him for such a paper?"
"I don't want any paper, except to wrap up my candy in. But you
don't want to buy any candy, I see;" and Katy moved towards some
more clerks at the other end of the store.
"Yes, I do; stop a minute. I want to buy six sticks for my
children!"
"For what?"
"For my grandchildren.
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