do anything I can to assist you. You have come
to a good town; Portland is a healthy, thriving place, and any man with
a proper degree of enterprise may do well here. But," says he,
"stranger," and he looked mighty kind of knowing, says he, "if you want
to make out to your mind, you must do as the steamboats do."

"Well," says I, "how do they do?" for I didn't know what a steamboat
was, any more than the man in the moon.

"Why," says he, "they go ahead. And you must drive about among the folks
here just as though you were at home, on the farm among the cattle.
Don't be afraid of any of them, but figure away, and I dare say you'll
get into good business in a very little while. But," says he, "there's
one thing you must be careful of; and that is, not to get into the hands
of those are folks that trades up round Huckler's Row, for ther's some
sharpers up there, if they get hold of you, would twist your eye-teeth
out in five minits."

Well, arter he had giv me all the good advice he could, I went back to
Aunt Sally's ag'in, and got some breakfast; and then I walked all over
the town, to see what chance I could find to sell my axe-handles and
things and to get into business.

After I had walked about three or four hours, I come along towards the
upper end of the town, where I found there were stores and shops of all
sorts and sizes. And I met a feller, and says I,--

"What place is this?"

"Why, this," says he, "is Huckler's Row."

"What!" says I, "are these the stores where the traders in Huckler's Row
keep?"

And says he, "Yes."

"Well, then," says I to myself, "I have a pesky good mind to go in and
have a try with one of these chaps, and see if they can twist my
eye-teeth out. If they can get the best end of a bargain out of me, they
can do what there ain't a man in our place can do; and I should just
like to know what sort of stuff these 'ere Portland chaps are made of."
So I goes into the best-looking store among 'em. And I see some biscuit
on the shelf, and says I,--

"Mister, how much do you ax apiece for them 'ere biscuits?"

"A cent apiece," says he.

"Well," says I, "I shan't give you that, but, if you've a mind to, I'll
give you two cents for three of them, for I begin to feel a little as
though I would like to take a bite."

"Well," says he, "I wouldn't sell 'em to anybody else so, but, seeing
it's you, I don't care if you take 'em."

I knew he lied, for he never seen me before in his life. We