THE PRICE OF A DOG

A man had a dog, and the dog was such a poor, miserable cur that everybody wondered at the attachment of the man to such a beast. One day in the barroom of a tavern a number of young men were rallying him on his dog, and wanted to know how much he’d take for his pet. The man said that he loved that dog so much that he couldn’t think of parting with him—he “wouldn’t take twenty dollars for that dog.” His tormentors, knowing him to be thoroughly conscientious, although poor, and that when he had given his word he would never go back on it, got together forty silver half-dollars, piled them up on the bar, and called on him to decide whether he would rather have that miserable dog or all that pile of silver? “No, gentlemen,” said he, walking up to the bar and counting the money carefully, “I stick to what I said. I won’t take twenty dollars for Pete. It’s too much. Nineteen dollars and a half is every cent he’s worth. The dog is yours.” Leaving one half-dollar on the bar, he scooped the other thirty-nine into his hat.