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“Ain’t goin’ to Californy, then, are you?” says Mr. Smallpotatoes.

“Guess not,” said our friend. “You talked of going, I believe?”

“Well, ye-e-e-s, I did think of it,” said the rural gent; “I did think of it last fall, but I kind o’ gin it up.”

Here another hiatus occurred; the rural gent walked around, viewed the goods and chattels for some minutes; then says he–

“Guess I’ll be movin’,” and of course that called forth from our friend the venerated expression–

“What’s your hurry?”

“Well, nothing ‘special. Plaguy cold winter we’ve got!”

“That’s a fact,” answered the storekeeper. “How’s sleighing out your way–good?”

“First rate; I guess the folks have had enough of it, this winter, by jolly. I hev, any how,” says the rural gent. “Trade’s dull, eh?”

“Very–very slack.”

“Dullest time of the year, I reckon, ain’t it?”

“Pretty much so, indeed,” says the storekeeper.

“I don’t see’s Californy goold gets much plentier, or business much better, nowhere.”

To this bit of cogent reason our friend replied–

“Not much–that’s a fact.”

“I ‘spect there’s a good deal of humbug about the Californy goold mines, don’t you?”

“The wealth of the country or the ease of coming at it,” said the storekeeper, “is no doubt exaggerated some.”

“That’s my opinion on’t too,” said the agriculturist. “Some make money out there, and then agin some don’t; I reckon more don’t than does.” To this bright inference the storekeeper ventured to say–

“I think it’s highly probable.”

“All your folks are lively, eh?” inquired Smallpotatoes.

“Pretty much so,” said the storekeeper; “troubled a little with influenza, colds, etc. nothing serious, however.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“All your folks are well, I believe you said?” the storekeeper, in apparent solicitude, inquired, to be reassured of the fact.

“Ye-e-e-s, exceptin’ the old lady.”

Another pause; we began to feel convinced there was speculation in the rural gent’s “eyes,” and just for the fun of the thing–as we “were up” to such dodges–we determined to hang on and see how he come out.

“Well, I declare, I must be goin’!” suddenly said the rural gent, and actually made five steps towards the handle of the door.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” echoed the storekeeper. “When did you come in town?”

“I come in this mornin’.”

“Any of the folks in with you?”

“No; my wife did want to come in, but concluded it was too cold; ‘spected some of your folks out to see us durin’ this good sleighing–why didn’t you come?”

“Couldn’t very well spare time,” said the storekeeper.

“Well, we’d been glad to see you, and if you get time, and the sleighin’ holds out, you must come and see us.”

“I may–I can’t promise for certain.”

Now another pause took place, and thinks we–the climax has come, surely, after all that small talk. The country gent walked deliberately to the door; he actually took hold of the knob.

“You off?” says the storekeeper.

“B’lieve I’ll be off”–opening the door, then rushes back again–semi-excited by the force of some pent up idea, says the rural gent–“O! Mr. —-, don’t you want to buy some good fresh eggs ?”

“Eggs? Yes, I do; been looking all around for some fresh eggs; how many have you?”

“Five dozen; thought you’d want some; so I come right in to see!”

We nearly catapillered! After all this circumlocution, the man came to the pint, and–sold his eggs in two minutes!