I don't know you." "I guess it's you that are mistaken, Fitz," said the pedler, familiarly; "why, don't you remember Cousin Abner, that used to trot you on his knee when you was a baby?
Give us your hand, in memory of old times." "You must be crazy," said Fitzgerald, his cheeks red with indignation, and all the more exasperated because he saw significant smiles on the faces of his school-companions.
"I s'pose you was too young to remember me," said Abner.

"I haint seen you for ten years." "Sir," said Fitz, wrathfully, "you are trying to impose upon me.

I am a native of Boston." "Of course you be," said the imperturbable pedler.

"Cousin Jim--that's your father--went to Boston when he was a boy, and they do say he's worked his way up to be a mighty rich man.

Your father is rich, aint he ?" "My father is wealthy, and always was," said Fitzgerald.
"No he wasn't, Cousin Fitz," said Abner.