"Then give me three-penny worth of any kind." To his surprise, the
baker passed three great puffy rolls to him, enough for three men to
eat at one meal. At first, he was puzzled to know what to do with
them, whether to take all three or not.

"What! All that?" he said, scarcely knowing what he did say.

"Yes, there's three-penny worth; that is what you said, was it not?"

"It was," and Benjamin paid the money and took the loaves, trying to
conceal his surprise, without exposing his ignorance of methods in the
Quaker City. He was a boy of remarkable tact, as we have seen, so that
he was never put to his wits long without finding a way out. It was so
in this case. He put a roll under each arm, and taking the third one
in his hand, he proceeded up the street, eating as he went.

Recollect that it was Sunday morning, and people were already swarming
in the streets, arrayed in their best clothes. Benjamin was clad in
his poorest clothes, and they were very shabby. His best suit was in
his chest, and that was sent from New York by water. He was a sight to
behold as he trudged up Market Street with his three loaves of bread,
and his large pockets stuffed with shirts and stockings. He preferred
pockets to the usual "bandanna bundle"; they were more convenient for
storing away his wardrobe, but contributed largely to his comical
appearance. He was a walking comedy. People gazed at him inquiringly
and smiled. No doubt, many of them wondered where he came from and
where he was going. He was seedy enough, but no one saw the seed of a
philosopher or statesman about him. There was no promise in that
direction. He was an embryo "Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of
France"; but his appearance was that of a shack, or modern tramp, to