Bunce had grown tired of
peddling--the trade was not less uncertain than fatiguing. Besides,
travelling so much among the southrons, he had imbibed not a few of
their prejudices against his vocation, and, to speak the truth, had
grown somewhat ashamed of his present mode of life. He was becoming
rapidly aristocratic, as we may infer from a very paternal and somewhat
patronizing epistle, which he despatched about this time to his elder
brother and copartner, Ichabod Bunce, who carried on his portion of the
business at their native place in Meriden, Connecticut. He told him, in
a manner and vein not less lofty than surprising to his coadjutor, that
it "would not be the thing, no how, to keep along, lock and lock with
him, in the same gears." It was henceforward his "idee to drive on his
own hook. Times warn't as they used to be;" and the fact was--he did not
say it in so many words--the firm of Ichabod Bunce and Brother was
scarcely so creditable to the latter personage as he should altogether
desire among his southern friends and acquaintances.
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