Now, I'm going to make you an
offer. That leg is Fairchild's patent; steel-springs, india-rubber
joints, elastic toes and everything, and it's in better order now
than it was when I bought it. It'd be a comfort to any man. It's the
most luxurious leg I ever came across. If bliss ever kin be reached
by a man this side of the tomb, it belongs to the person that gets
that leg on and feels the consciousness creeping over his soul that
it is his. Consequently, I say that when I offer it to you I'm doing
a personal favour; and I think I see you jump at the chance, and want
to clinch the bargain before I mention--you'll hardly believe it, I
know--that I'll actually knock that leg down to you at four hundred
dollars. Four hundred, did I say? I meant six hundred; but let it
stand. I never back out when I make an offer; but it's just throwing
that leg away--it is, indeed."
"But I don't want an artificial leg," said Brown.
"The beautiful thing about the limb," said the stranger, pulling up
his trousers and displaying the article, "is that it is reliable. You
kin depend on it. It's always there. Some legs that I have seen were
treacherous--most always some of the springs bursting out, or the
joints working backwards, or the toes turning down and ketching in
things.
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