Would he sit down?
He sat down.

I did not know anything particular to say, and yet I felt that people who have arrived at the dignity of keeping house must be conversational, must be easy and sociable in company.

So, in default of anything else to say, I asked him if he was opening his shop in our neighborhood.
He said he was.

[I did not wish to appear ignorant, but I had hoped he would mention what he had for sale.] I ventured to ask him "How was trade ?" And he said "So-so." I then said we would drop in, and if we liked his house as well as any other, we would give him our custom.
He said he thought we would like his establishment well enough to confine ourselves to it--said he never saw anybody who would go off and hunt up another man in his line after trading with him once.
That sounded pretty complacent, but barring that natural expression of villainy which we all have, the man looked honest enough.
I do not know how it came about exactly, but gradually we appeared to melt down and run together, conversationally speaking, and then everything went along as comfortably as clockwork.
We talked, and talked, and talked--at least I did; and we laughed, and laughed, and laughed--at least he did.

But all the time I had my presence of mind about me--I had my native shrewdness turned on "full head," as the engineers say.