Come and look." When Silas Peckham saw how
many delicacies had survived the evening's conflict, his commercial
spirit rose at once to the point of a proposal. "Colonel
Sprowle," said he, "there's 'meat and cakes and pies and pickles
enough on that table to spread a hahnsome colation. If you'd like to
trade reasonable, I think perhaps I should be willin' to take 'em off
your hands. There's been a talk about our havin' a celebration in the
Parnassian
Grove, and I think I could work in what your folks don't want and
make myself whole by chargin' a small sum for tickets. Broken meats,
of course, a'n't of the same
valoo as fresh provisions; so I think you might be willin' to trade
reasonable." Mr. Peckham paused and rested on his proposal. It would
not, perhaps, have been very extraordinary, if Colonel Sprowle had
entertained the proposition. There is no telling beforehand how such
things will strike people. It didn't happen to strike the Colonel
favorably. He had a little red-blooded
manhood in him. "Sell you them things to make a colation
out of?" the Colonel replied.
"Walk up to that table, Mr. Peckham, and help yourself! Fill your
pockets; Mr. Peckham