"What do you do with it. Nick?"
His look said plainly, what is that to you? but he only answered,
quaintly enough, "I takes care of it."
How Nick got his first dollar is very doubtful; I was told that
when he entered the village store, the person serving always
called in another pair of eyes; but having obtained it, the
spirit, activity, and industry, with which he caused it to
increase and multiply, would have been delightful in one of Miss
Edgeworth's dear little clean bright-looking boys, who would have
carried all he got to his mother; but in Nick it was detestable.
No human feeling seemed to warm his young heart, not even the
love of self-indulgence, for he was not only ragged and dirty,
but looked considerably more than half starved, and I doubt not
his dinners and suppers half fed his fat chickens.
I by no means give this history of Nick, the chicken merchant, as
an anecdote characteristic in all respects of America; the only
part of the story which is so, is the independence of the little
man, and is one instance out of a thousand, of the hard, dry,
calculating character that is the result of it. Probably Nick
will be very rich; perhaps he will be President. I once got so
heartily scolded for saying, that I did not think all American
citizens were equally eligible to that office, that I shall never
again venture to doubt it.
Another of our cottage acquaintance was a market-gardener, from
whom we frequently bought vegetables; from the wife of this man
we one day received a very civil invitation to "please to come
and pass the evening with them in prayer.
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