He brought his basket around to me for first choice.
Everything was very nice; a clean new basket, covered with a white
cloth, wherein lay piles of neatly arranged packages done up in
letter-paper, with a strange-looking character inscribed upon each.
"What do these letters mean?" I asked, taking up one of the packages,
and trying in vain to decipher the cabalistic sign upon it.
Thomas chuckled.
"Oh, that's to show de kine of san'wich dey is, Mist' Dunkin. You see,
seh, I got th'ee kines--so I put 'B' on de beef, 'H' on de _hahm_, an' I
stahtid to put 'H' on de hystehs too, but den I foun' I couldn't tell
de _hystehs_ f'om de _hahm_, so den I put 'H I' on de hystehs."
"Oh, I see," said I, opening one of the "hysteh" packages. It was very
good; an excellent French roll, well spread with choice butter, and two
large, nicely fried oysters between. I ate it speedily, took another,
and, that disposed of, asked the price.
"Ten cents, seh."
"For two!"
"Yes, seh; fi' cents 'piece."
"Why, Thomas," I exclaimed, "you mustn't begin by asking five cents
apiece; you'll ruin yourself. These things are _worth_ at least twice as
much money. Why, I pay ten cents for a sandwich at an eating-house, and
it doesn't begin to have as good materials in it as yours. You ought to
ask more."
"Naw, seh; naw, seh; Mist' Dunkin; as' less, an' sell mo'--that's my
motteh.
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