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I could even meet the son of a tin-pedler on equal terms, provided he were a gentleman." The blood rushed to Fletcher's cheeks. "A tin-pedler!" he ejaculated. "Yes! Suppose you were the son, or relation, of a tin-pedler, why should I consider that? It would make you neither better nor worse." "I have no connection with tin-pedlers," said Fletcher, hastily. "Who told you I had?"

Seems to me you've got high notions, Fitz. Your mother was kind of flighty, and I've heard mine say Cousin Jim that's your father was mighty sot up by gettin' rich. But seems to me you ought not to deny your own flesh and blood." "I don't know who you refer to, sir." "Why, you don't seem to want to own me as your cousin." "Of course not. You're only a common tin-pedler."

"Printing is a department of literature, and the Clionian is a literary society, isn't it?" "Of course it is a literary society, but a printer's devil is not literary." "He's as literary as a tin-pedler," said Tom Carver, maliciously. Fletcher turned red, but managed to say, "And what does that prove?" "We don't object to you because you are connected with the tin business."

I asked him why he didn't secure board with his cousin, the tin-pedler, but that made him angry, and he walked away in disgust. But I can't help pitying you a little, Harry." "Why? On account of my occupation?" "Partly. All these warm summer days, you have got to be working at the case, while I can lounge in the shade, or travel for pleasure. Sha'n't you have a vacation?" "I don't expect any.

School don't begin till nine, but the boys will be playing ball alongside. Then we'll give you an introduction to your cousin." "That'll suit me well enough. I'll come." Tom Carver returned in triumph, and communicated to the other boys the arrangement be had made with Mr. Bickford, and his unexpected discovery of the genuine relationship that existed between Fitz and the tin-pedler.

Oscar's example was followed by the rest of the boys, who advanced in turn, and shook hands with the tin-pedler. "Now Fitz, it's your turn," said Tom. "I decline," said Fitz, holding his hands behind his back. "How much he looks like his marm did when she was young," said Abner. "Well, boys, I can't stop no longer.

Wonder if he expects to sell any of his wares to us boys. Do you know him, Fitz?" "I!" answered Fitzgerald with a scornful look, "what should I know of a tin-pedler?" Tom's mouth twitched, and his eyes danced with the anticipation of fun. By this time Mr. Bickford had brought his horse to a halt, and jumping from his box, approached the group of boys, who suspended their game.

"Oh, I see," said Abner, nodding, "he wouldn't like to own a tin-pedler for his cousin." "No," said Tom; "he wants us to think all his relations are rich. I wouldn't mind at all myself," he added, it suddenly occurring to him that Abner's feelings might be hurt. "Good!" said Abner, "I see you aint one of the stuck-up kind. I've got some relations in Boston myself, that are rich and stuck up.

Here is a tin-pedler whose glittering ware bedazzles all beholders like a travelling meteor or opposition sun, and on the other side a seller of spruce beer, which brisk liquor is confined in several dozen of stone bottles.

Those of my readers who live in large cities are probably not familiar with the travelling tin-pedler, who makes his appearance at frequent intervals in the country towns and villages of New England. His stock of tinware embraces a large variety of articles for culinary purposes, ranging from milk-pans to nutmeg-graters.