You can’t go on for ever, you’ll find, nor yet could my father nor yet my mother.  If you don’t go off as a whole when you are about due, you’re liable to go off in part, and two to one your head’s the part.  Gradually my father went off his, and my mother went off hers.  It was in a harmless way, but it put out the family where I boarded them.  The old couple, though retired, got to be wholly and solely devoted to the Cheap Jack business, and were always selling the family off.  Whenever the cloth was laid for dinner, my father began rattling the plates and dishes, as we do in our line when we put up crockery for a bid, only he had lost the trick of it, and mostly let ’em drop and broke ’em.  As the old lady had been used to sit in the cart, and hand the articles out one by one to the old gentleman on the footboard to sell, just in the same way she handed him every item of the family’s property, and they disposed of it in their own imaginations from morning to night.  At last the old gentleman, lying bedridden in the same room with the old lady, cries out in the old patter, fluent, after having been silent for two days and nights:  “Now here, my jolly companions every one,—­which the Nightingale club in a village was held, At the sign of the Cabbage and Shears, Where the singers no doubt would have greatly excelled, But for want of taste, voices and ears,—­now, here, my jolly companions, every one, is a working model of a used-up old Cheap Jack, without a tooth in his head, and with a pain in every bone:  so like life that it would be just as good if it wasn’t better, just as bad if it wasn’t worse, and just as new if it wasn’t worn out.  Bid for the working model of the old Cheap Jack, who has drunk more gunpowder-tea with the ladies in his time than would blow the lid off a washerwoman’s copper, and carry it as many thousands of miles higher than the moon as naught nix naught, divided by the national debt, carry nothing to the poor-rates, three under, and two over.  Now, my hearts of oak and men of straw, what do you say for the lot?  Two shillings, a shilling, tenpence, eightpence, sixpence, fourpence.  Twopence?  Who said twopence?  The gentleman in the scarecrow’s hat?  I am ashamed of the gentleman in the scarecrow’s hat.  I really am ashamed of him for his want of public spirit.  Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you.  Come!  I’ll throw you in a working model of a old woman that was married to the old Cheap Jack so long ago that upon my word and honour it took place in Noah’s Ark, before the Unicorn could get in to forbid the banns by blowing a tune upon his horn.  There now!  Come!  What do you say for both?  I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you.  I don’t bear you malice for being so backward.  Here!  If you make me a bid that’ll only reflect a little credit on your town, I’ll throw you in a warming-pan for nothing, and lend you a toasting-fork for life.  Now come; what do you say after that splendid offer?