“Donner unt blitzen! Das ish von big sheat knife. Goot for nix. Das knife not coot preat, py Shoseph!”
“How did you break it?” asked the peddler, fitting the pieces of the knife together and taking a wire from his pocket. “This is a good knife, I reckon. You broke the rivet. Now look at me, and see how far we are in advance of you in the arts and sciences. I tell you, Hans Drinker, you don’t know any thing about these matters—blamed if you do.”
As he spoke, he took out a pair of pincers, riveted the blade in, pounded it, and held up the knife for inspection.
“Look at that, neow, Hans Drinker. Any one but a Dutchman would have done that long ago, instead of waiting for a poor fellow who sold you the knife at a _sacrifice_.”
“Vat ish dat, eh? I no care for dat? I says de knife vill not cut preat,” cried Hans.
“See here—where have you had this knife? You put it in hot water, I know. Tell the truth and shame the adversary—didn’t you, now?”
“All you know. Of _course_ it hurts! What do you expect a knife to be that you can buy for a shilling, English money? It took the temper out of it, I allow.”
“Never you mind. That knife is spoiled, and I know how. I wouldn’t give an English penny for it to-day. For why? A Dutchman don’t know how to use a knife. Consequence—he spoils it.”
Hans paused in some doubt, seeing the blame of the failure of the knife laid so fully upon his guiltless shoulders. Boston gave him no time to think, but threw open his pack.
“Now, I’ll tell you what I mean to do. You don’t deserve it; but I will do a violence to my conscience, and do something for you. Keep your fingers to yourself and feast your eyes upon that.” Here he produced a knife somewhat better than the one which Hans had returned. “Now, I’ll tell you what I will do. ’Tisn’t right, I know it; ’tisn’t behaving properly to those who bought the last lot I had, but you may have _that_ knife for four shillings sterling. You stare. I don’t wonder, for that knife ought to bring fully _ten_ shillings. It’s worth it, if it’s worth a farthing; but what can I do? I must put my goods down to you fellows or you won’t look at them. I am making myself a poor man for your sakes.”
“Vour shilling. Dat ish too mooch, by Shoseph!”