Book One - Chapter 15 In Which I Meet With a Pedler by the Name of Gabbing Dick

"You won't be wantin' ever a broom, now?"

I sat up, sleepily, and rubbed my eyes. The sun was gone, and
the blue sky had changed to a deep purple, set here and there
with a quivering star. Yet the light was still strong enough to
enable me to distinguish the speaker--a short, thick-set man.
Upon his shoulder he carried a bundle of brooms, a pack was slung
to his back, while round his neck there dangled a heterogeneous
collection of articles--ribbons, laces, tawdry neck chains, and
the like; indeed, so smothered was he in his wares that, as he
stood there, he had more the aspect of some disordered fancy than
of a human being.

"You won't be wantin' ever a broom, now?" he repeated, in a
somewhat melancholy tone.

"No," said I.

"Nor yet a mop?"

"Nor that either," said I.

"A belt, now," he suggested mournfully, "a fine leather belt wi'
a steel buckle made in Brummagem as ever was, and all for a
shillin'; what d'ye say to a fine belt?"

"That I have no need of one, thank you."

"Ah, well!" said the man, spitting dejectedly at a patch of
shadow, "I thought as much; you aren't got the look of a buyer."

"Then why ask me?"

"Hinstinct!" said he, "it's jest hinstinct--it comes as nat'ral
to me as eatin', or walkin' these 'ere roads."