University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
ON A LARK—WALTER—THE STUDENT—THE POET.

Left sole master of his aunt's establishment in the city, young
Winkle resolved, as most young gentlemen of his age and disposition
would have done, to make the most of his opportunity,
and reap the greatest possible amount of enjoyment from the
means and time placed at his disposal. Therefore, no sooner
had his aunt and sister departed for the boat, than he tossed
the book he had been reading—“The Mirror of Moral Propriety,”
written for the edification of credulous dupes—to the
farthest extremity of the parlor, and leaning back, rang the
bell very violently.

“Tell Snapper to have the carriage at the door as soon as
possible,” was the young man's order to the housemaid, who
gazed with eager curiosity.

“Iss, sir.”

“And when you have done that, Rose, come back to me.
I shall want you.”

“Iss, sir,” responded the maid, springing away to do the
young man's bidding.

Then Walter promenaded the magnificent saloon, with a
proud step and a sounding heel. His hands were thrust into
his pockets behind, and his eyes, disregarding the statuary
and fine paintings surrounding him, were fixed upon the
ceiling.

“If I could only meet with one of the fellows, now!” said
he, “what a time we would have! If I thought my aunt
would stay away several days—but she never knows herself—
I could write to Princeton, or to New York, and get one or
two—”

“Iss, sir,” said Rose, standing before him at one of his
turns, and dropping a slight courtesy.

“Oh, you told him, did you?”

“Iss, sir.”

“All right, Rose. Rose, I suppose my aunt told you all
that I was left master of the house?”

“Iss sir.”

“And of course every one will do whatever I desire?”

“Oh iss, sir.”

“Then tell the cook I may have company to a late supper;
and if I do, I shall want at least five hundred oysters roasted
in the shell. Is there any champagne in the cellar?”

“Iss, sir.”

“See that the cobwebs are brushed off some half-a-dozen
of the bottles.”

“Iss, sir.”

“I suppose my aunt don't smoke cigars?”

“Iss—Oh la, no, sir.”

“Then I'll buy some. She gave me her purse. Let the
bill for the oysters—and a brace of woodcock—be presented
in the morning—”

“It can't be done, for it's onreasonable!” said the great
fat colored cook, who had been listening in the hall, and now
came boldly forward, as matters pertaining to her jurisdiction
were discussed.

“Why, Griddle? Pray, why is it unreasonable?”

“Why? Why who ever heard of oysters at this season?”

“True—I didn't think of that.”

“There's none but milky ones—and the cholera's bad
enough without helping it any.”

“True, Griddle. You are a philosopher. But what is
there nice for me to invite a friend to, if I should meet with
one?”

“Plenty. I can get woodcock, and if you can afford it—
for Miss Wilsome wouldn't—I can get fresh salmon—”

“That's it. Get a dollar or so's worth. I hear the bell
—see who it is, Rose. [Exit Rose.] Now, my good Griddle,
I may rely on you?”

“That you may! Say nothing more about it. It does
my heart good to see young people enjoy demselves in reason,
if they behave demselves. And I saw old Snapper's eyes
blinking, and his teeth grinning, as he went to the stable. It
does our old hearts good to get a sight of the young gentry
once in a while.”

“Iss—it's the coach, sir.”

“Is it down fore and aft? Stop, I can see through the
blinds. Yes, all's right.”

“Snapper'll do right!” said Griddle. “He'll have every

thing open and displayed in grand style. And he's got on his
new coat with the silver buttons.”

“Iss, and his new hat, with the broad silver lace band.”

“I can't tell when I'll be back,” said the young gentleman,
pulling on his kid gloves. “But have the supper and the
champagne ready when they are called for.”

He then strode through the hall, and descended the flight
of marble steps in front with the elasticity of buoyant youth
enfranchised from every species of restraint, and exulting in
the possession, as he supposed, of the means of commanding
the most perfect happiness. No individual in the street of
decent exterior escaped his eyes as he mounted into the luxuriantly
cushioned carriage; and he was quite sure that no eye
could withhold its admiring glance from his handsome person
and brilliant equipage. Nevertheless Walter Winkle was not
excessively vain, and he was noe engaged in his first fit of extravagant
folly, an indulgence mainly attributable to the reaction
which sometimes follows a long imposed restraint, or is
one of the incidents of healthful youth, and accompanying the
exuberance of spirits so often inseparable from it.

Snapper had now an opportunity of taking off the wiry
edge of his high-mettled and almost ungovernable horses. His
whip sounded startlingly over their astonished ears. Their
nostrils were turned out, their eyes emitted luminous rays,
and their bits were covered with foam, before the expiration
of the first hour of their exercises. Walter, alone in the carriage,
reclining on the rear seat, had already traversed most of
the fashionable thoroughfares, and had doubtless been stared
at by thousands of dark flashing eyes, for the gay season at
the watering-places had not yet commenced.

“Snapper!” cried Walter, as they were returning slowly
through Chestnut street, and when opposite the custom house
—“follow that man with the straw hat—the one with a blue
coat and metal buttons. I think he's a friend of mine. Deuce
take the omnibuses and drays—”

“The drays are loaded with kags of silver and gold,” replied
Snapper.

“And Uncle Sam's specie seems to be the only money in
the country that passes too slowly. Can't you get round it
some how? I'm afraid we'll lose the blue coat and brass buttons.
I wish some of the Washington officials were here!”

Snapper succeeded in extricating the horses from the

throng, by dint of hard whipping, a commanding voice, and
his silver lace and buttons, just in time to come up with the
pedestrian when opposite the door of the American hotel.

“George Parke! Huzza!” cried Walter. “How are
you, old fellow,” he continued, leaping down and seizing the
hand of his friend, who was really younger than himself, although
“old fellow” was repeatedly uttered by them both.

“Whose carriage is that, Winkle?” asked Parke.

Mine—mine for a day or two, at the very least. But
where are you going?”

“To the American, here. You know what that means.
Out of money. Uncle Johnny at Princeton, you know, thinks
differently. Have you seen any of the boys? Our class is
off for the vacation. I don't go South this summer; but have
written home for money. I have only a shilling left for cigars,
and don't know how I am to get to the opera to-night, unless
the landlord will lend me some cash. I'm glad the college is
in good credit here.”

“Say no more!” cried Walter. “Let me fling your carpet-bag
in. Now jump up yourself. You shall be my guest.
Aunty's away, and I am master of her establishment. Jupiter,
Mars and Saturn! But I am glad I met you! What would
I have done there alone, or with only a pack of grinning servants
laughing at me, a noisy parrot, and a mischievous monkey?
We'll enjoy ourselves, Parke, and you shall be at no
expense. Drive home, Snapper! Parke, old fellow, there is
a beautiful girl in the city—”

“A thousand, you mean.”

“No, I don't. But there is one, above all others, the
queen of beauty—the, the Oakland.”

“Is she here?”

“At her uncle's—Dr. Nitre's. I brought her down today.
After rubbing up a little we'll go there and have her to
ride with us.”

“Won't her aunt Nitre go along?”

“I hope not. But if she does, you know Virginia's my
prize. That rich snob, Ralph Roland, is still following her—
but she says he's not the thing. And I flatter myself—”

“But Winkle, you must let me have a fair start with
you.”

“Parke! It may be well for us to understand each other,
and then there can be no mistake. Virginia and I are—”

“What?”

“Engaged! Now you have it. We expect to wait a year
or so—but the thing is understood between ourselves. That's
all. Don't whisper it in your dreams. Now, you may flirt
with her as much as you please, and I can rely upon your
honor.”

“Oh, yes—I understand. The old trick.”

“I assure you I am serious, George, though I cannot for
the life of me look grave. If it were not so, what objection
think you could I have to your falling in love with her, and
she with you? None, whatever, believe me. But you forget
Julia Nitre! If the old lady should take it into her head to
be one of the party, I don't suppose her daughter is to be left
at home.”

“I've heard some accounts of Miss Julia; and if she be
half as handsome as they report her, you may enjoy your real
or pretended affianced to your heart's content. Is this your
aunt's establishment? It is stately enough.”

They descended in front of Miss Wilsome Winkle's mansion,
and without delay mounted to the third story. The
apartments had been hastily prepared for the accommodation
of Walter, but nevertheless, there were many evidences remaining
of the idiosyncrasy of the proprietor. Broken furniture,
fractured china, and old slippers; the accumulation of
some thirty years, were packed away under the beds and in
the corners. Even dingy doll babies, probably arrived at the
mature age of threescore and ten—for they had amused the
little Wilsome some sixty years before—were visible in the
closets. And on the mantel-piece, preserved in a glass case,
was an antique silver pin-cushion, filled with pins blackened
by the damps of departed generations, and duly labelled as
the one used by Miss Winkle's mother, or grandmother, it is
not recollected which, on her wedding-day. In another case,
were the high-heeled wedding shoes. In short, Miss Wilsome
was one of those remarkable characters who literally preserve
every thing, and in emergencies can find nothing, because of the
superabundance and confusion of their acquisitions. And
although she was quite as parsimonious and economical as
might be consistent with the habits of life, yet she never knew
the exact state of her finances. Having originally one hundred
thousand dollars, in money, the entire sum was invested
in such securities as the cashier of the bank where the deposit

had been made, advised; and she never inquired further in
relation to the safety of the investment, or in regard to the
fluctuations of the stocks. The investment had been made
when the stocks were fifty per cent. below par; and they had
subsequently declined most alarmingly, without causing her a
painful thought. But they were now fully at par; that is,
worth double the sum she had paid—and yet she did not seem
to be aware of the gain. The dividends were passed to her
credit in the bank, and she drew upon them without numbering
her checks, or keeping any account of the balance subject
to her order. She relied upon the annual publication of
balances which the law required the banks to make, to ascertain
in an indisputably authentic form, the exact statement of
the amount of funds subject to her demand at stated periods.
Such was her peculiar financial system; and the most acute
banker would have failed in any attempt to convince her that
her income might be materially increased by the adoption of
any other.

“See here, Winkle!” said Parke, “are we not in the
wrong chamber? This looks like a nursery, or a museum.”

“It looks like aunt Wilsome's mind precisely—but I will
see if any other room on this floor is in a better condition.
No!” he continued, endeavoring to open other doors. “All
locked. Just like her. She won't trust us in any other
chamber than the one allotted to us. Some of them they say
have not been entered for years by any one but herself. She
creeps about alone with a candle in her hand at all hours of
the night. So say the servants, who have watched her. But
if you are ready, let us be off.”

“How does that look?” demanded Parke, adjusting his
cravat before a large old ebony-framed glass.

“Quite right. Come.”

“How much money have you, Winkle? You know I told
you I had none.”

“Let me see what's in the purse my aunt threw me. First
—a penny.”

“By Jove, a penny! Where are the opera tickets and the
cigars to come from?”

“Stop! Here's a quarter—and a number of three cent
pieces. Ha! next come the quarter eagles—one, two, three,
four, five, six! That's all.”

“That will do.”

“Jupiter! What's this in the other end? A check—a
check for one hundred dollars!”

“Good!”

“It is good. Payable to bearer. Drawn a week ago—
look at the date. She's forgotten all about it?”

“Will you draw the money?”

“If we need it. But come. We must give the girls an
airing. There's old Snapper gazing up for us, and the horses
are snorting impatiently.”

The young bloods descended to the street, and were soon
sitting in the coach in the attitude of unfeigned satisfaction.

A few minutes afterwards the young gentlemen were entering
Mrs. Nitre's parlor. They found themselves rather abruptly
in the presence of the young ladies, and were joined a
moment after by Mrs. Nitre and the merry-faced doctor.

“We came to propose—” said Walter, stammering and
hesitating, after the ceremony of introducing his friend, and
laboring under some degree of embarrassment, notwithstanding
his predetermined impudence, or boldness; and as all eyes
were now turned upon him, and a silence prevailed, he found
it impossible to proceed.

“The deuce you do!” at length exclaimed the doctor,
rising comically. “If that be the case, Mrs. Nitre, should
not you and I withdraw?”

“Don't attempt to be witty, doctor,” replied his wife; “no
one is amused at you; all can see that you merely affect to
be serious.”

“We came to propose,” continued Walter, blushing in
unison with the girls, “to the ladies—” and again he
paused.

“Of course, to the ladies,” said the doctor, “who else
could it be to?”

“To Mrs. Nitre, and—” pursued Walter, forgetting his
previous resolution of omitting her name, but aware there
would not be room for five in the carriage.

“Oho!” cried the doctor, “then it must be a proposal of
some other nature.”

“If such a thing were possible, the doctor would not object
to see me proposed for and taken away,” said Mrs. Nitre,
who was one of the few dames who habitually depreciate their
husbands in the presence of their guests, without being aware

that husband and wife are a unit, and that they must necessarily
degrade themselves by such practices.

“I mean that we came to propose a drive in my aunt's carriage,
which is waiting at the door,” said Walter, now quite
recovered.

“And to slight me—deliberately to cut me,” said the doctor,
apparently not heeding Mrs. N.'s allusion. “But my own
carriage will be at the door in a few minutes. I have to call
at the Girard to see some friends—the Gaffs of New York
—and Mrs. Nitre has agreed to accompany me.”

“I believe I won't go,” said Mrs. Nitre. “The Gaffs are not
intimate acquaintances of mine. They made a fortune selling
drugs by the dose, soda-water by the glass, tooth-brushes, cologne,
etc.”

This speech was made to young Parke, whose family was
known to be of the aristocratic order.

“Then I need not delay. I will excuse you on the plea of
company,” said Dr. Nitre, rather gravely; “but I hope, my
dear, that I may invite them to tea to-morrow, and that you
will call on them this evening.” And he departed without
further delay.

“No doubt the vacation is a carnival,” said Miss Oakland,
who had engaged in a free conversation with young Parke, and
was exerting her powers of fascination, for she was piqued at
Walter for having, it might be unconsciously, surrendered a
beautiful rose to Julia.

“It is indeed. And we endeavor to seize the opportunity
to reap its enjoyments. Fortune has favored me to-day. I
came alone to the city, and in a melancholy humor, for I was
out of money, as well as out of spirits, and almost out at the
elbows, to await a letter from home, when Winkle espied me.
What a change! I am now the happiest of men!”

“Men!” cried Mrs. Nitre, placing her hand on the youth's
arm, “you must first get into the senior class, my dear boy.”

“But the sun is sinking,” said Walter, “and the carriage
waits.”

“There is room for only four in the carriage,” said Julia,
looking out of the window.

“That's awkward,” said Mrs. Nitre. “I cannot trust the
girls alone with such madcaps. Remain to tea, and send home
the carriage.”

“Will you let them go with us to the opera, if we do?”
asked Walter.

“Not to-night.”

“Why not, mamma?” asked Julia.

“I don't go to such places often. Our rector does not approve
of it. But it is probable the Gaffs may be there, and
then my husband might be suspected of uttering or conniving
at a falsehood.” Mrs. Nitre, although she habitually strove
to mortify the doctor when in his presence, was remarkably kind
to him behind his back.

“Then you will stay?” asked Julia.

“I sup—” began Walter.

“You recollect our positive engagement?” said George,
quickly.

“Hem—yes! I came near forgetting it. I'm very sorry;
but we cannot break the engagement,” replied Walter, wondering
what sort of a story George would invent.

“So you are engaged for other company, Mr. Parke?”
asked Virginia.

“Yes,” said George, without hesitation. “Several fellows
from Princeton are to meet us there. But if we can find them
before the doors open, perhaps we might persuade them to
come here.”

“Do so,” said Mrs. Nitre. “The girls will expect you.”

The young gentlemen departed, promising if possible to return
in the evening.

“What fellows from Princeton did you mean, George?”
asked Walter, as the carriage proceeded slowly towards the
theatre, the horses being now quite jaded, and altogether tame
enough.

“Ourselves, of course. I thought we were to have a lark
to-night.”

“Good! And I was not well pleased with Virginia's conduct.
She had nothing to say to me.”

“Oh, you had no rose for her.”

“Julia snatched it. Ha! ha! That was the reason.
Here we are. Drive home, Snapper, and you need not return
for us. Tell cook to have a glorious supper in readiness—
and take a bottle or so into the kitchen for yourselves.”

The young gentlemen soon grew weary of the opera. There
was not a fashionable audience present; and although they
might be able to translate Italian, they could not interpret it

as it was uttered in song on the stage, and hence they did not
find themselves so pleasantly entertained as they had anticipated.
At the end of the first act they abandoned the place.

“Back to Nitre's?” asked George.

“No,” said Walter; “we're on a lark.”

“Where shall we go?”

“Let me think.”

“To Abraham Laban's! What say you?”

“The Jew pawnbroker's?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I have plenty of money.”

“Why? For the fun of the thing. Great Nose knows
me.”

“No doubt of it.”

“And perhaps he'll permit us to have a glance at his customers.
He's fond of fun himself when he don't lose by it.
And he's rich, too. They say he is owner of fine houses—has
ships at the wharf—gold in the mines—manufactures false
dice—contracts with the government—sues the insurance companies—is
a politician—distils brandy from rye, and lends
money under three balls. At certain hours he may be found
at his different places of business, and I have reason to know
this is his night for the three balls. Let us see how much we
can raise on my watch.”

“No. Let me try my diamond pin. I can redeem it tomorrow.
The less he advances, the less will be the cost of the
fun.”

“Agreed. But let us appear to be in a d—l of a fix—
most distressingly in need of money. That will sharpen his
cupidity, as my books say, and cause the interest to be less,
as the advance will certainly be small. What is the pin
worth?”

“It cost my father, I have heard my mother say, just fifty
dollars.”

“We'll see what he says of it. After business, if he drives
a good bargain, he may be pleasant. Come on—it is near at
hand, in the next back street.”

“You know the way?”

“Yes. He once sold a flute of mine among his forfeited
collaterals, and a friend bought it at a less sum than Great
Nose had advanced me. But he has recovered the loss since.”

They had now arrived at the place of entrance under the

balls glittering in the moonlight. Young Parke knew the signal
and soon obtained admittance.

“Ah! Is it you? I'm glad to see you, Mr. Parke, and
your friend. Come back into my private office,” said Abraham,
who was an American Israelite, leading the young gentlemen
into a small, well lighted apartment, which he usually
occupied himself, and whence he disputed with his customers
through a square opening communicating with a stall in the
front room.

“Any customers in front?” asked Parke, after introducing
Winkle as his friend, without naming him.

“Not now. There may be, soon. Many of the fashionables
are making arrangements to spend a few weeks at the
watering-places. I have had two curious applicants to-night
whom you should have seen or heard. It would have been a
lesson for you.”

“Tell us about them, Abraham.”

“Perhaps I will, after business. What have you brought
me this time? Not the old flute, I hope. That was a smart
trick. I won't advance so much next time. I was too liberal.
What do you want now?”

“Nothing myself. I'm rich since I made that fortune out
of you. My friend here wants your assistance.”

“I hope I shall have the pleasure of serving him. I will
advance him any amount on his simple bond.”

“That is liberal,” said George; “you never made me any
such generous offer.”

“Your parents live too far away. Besides, I did not know
you had any rich bachelor uncles and maiden aunts.”

“Do you suppose I have any?” asked Walter.

“Ha, ha, ha! You know me—every body knows the Jew,
Abraham Laban; and why should not Abraham know every
body? Tell me that, Mr. Walter Winkle.”

“I see no reason why he should not. You certainly know
me. Well, I am in great distress for a little ready cash; and I
fear to forfeit the good opinion of my rich relatives by applying
to them just at this particular time. Besides, my necessity
is most urgent, and will not admit of delay. It is to compound
a little scandalous affair on my hands, which would ruin
me if made known.”

“Aha! Pretty scrapes you pretty young gentlemen run
your necks into. But you must pay for them.”

“I am willing to pay. I have this diamond pin, worth,
you know, two hundred dollars—”

“Two hundred cents!” said the Jew. “That would be
nearer the mark.”

“Oh, I want only fifty dollars—”

“Fifty dollars! Why Mr. Parke, some one worse than
any Jew has been skinning your friend, if he paid any such
price as he says this thing is worth.”

“What do you say it is worth?” demanded Walter.

“Pooh! some twenty dollars, I suppose, if some dandy
had his heart fixed on it. Fifteen is as much as I can
venture.”

“Two hundred down to fifteen!” said Walter. “What
a fall! Well, my countryman, have your own way. Launch
forth the monish!”

“Here! But, young man, I have my doubts about the
truth of your tale. I am too much accustomed to the
symptoms and aspects of real distress to be easily deceived.
Yet I confess I do not understand your motive.”

“Is it necessary you should?” asked Walter.

“No—not in matters of business; but merely for my own
satisfaction. Every one knows my motive.”

“Yes. The balls declare it.”

“And somehow I find out the secrets of my customers, if
they don't choose to reveal them themselves. I should not
be surprised if you came here purely for amusement. Confess
—and you shall be entertained.”

“Here's your money. My pin! But to convince you of
my candor now, see this check. Cash it for me on your own
terms.”

“Good. Here are ten eagles, that I borrowed from the
banker this morning—or rather received them at the solicitation
of one of the officers, the stockholders being willing
to share the gains above the usual interest.”

“Now tell us about the customers.”

“Listen, and remember. The first was a clergyman. A
Christian seeking aid from a Jew!”

“But not a Dives, petitioning father Abraham,” said
Walter.

“No. And yet he has had his good things in this
world. He came enveloped in a cloak—warm as the weather
is—which I soon caused him to throw aside. I do not like

disguises—from myself. He confessed all. He has enjoyed
the reputation of being the possessor of wealth in Louisiana,
—has preached in the fine churches—and finally captivated
the heart of a young widow of two months' standing—”

“Two months' standing?”

“The grass has not yet grown over the grave of her deceased
husband. She, too, is regarded as a fortune. Well,
the lover desired a sum to keep up appearances ten months
more, until the expiration of the decent term of mourning.
He offered me fifty per cent—”

“And you agreed to it, of course,” said Parke.

“I did no such thing!”

“And after hearing his distressful tale?” asked Walter.

“You shall know all, and then decide. No offer he could
make would avail, and so I dismissed him. The next visitor
was a beautiful young lady, in deep mourning—”

“In mourning!” cried both the young gentlemen.

“In deep mourning—for she was the widow—”

“The widow!”

“Yes, the widow; and she was very properly in mourning.
But the veil was lifted for me. She confessed what I already
knew very well, that her late husband died insolvent. And
then she spoke of the great fortune of her wooer—the clergyman—and
said if she could only borrow from me the means
of meeting the demands of creditors until the celebration of
her nuptials, she would then be enabled to pay me munificently.”

“Is this romance or reality?” asked Walter, gravely.

“It is truth. I know the widow could not be deprived of
her dower. Her husband possessed much real estate, although
he died insolvent. I told her she would have sufficient
fortune for a comfortable support, and advised her not to seek
to avoid an exposure of her husband's affairs. I then told
her all I knew of her lover, the nature of his application to me,
and of his design upon her supposed large fortune.”

“What did she say to that?” asked Parke.

“Not what you would suppose. Her heart had not been
engaged in the matter at all. As a clear-headed, cool, calculating
woman of the world, she merely laughed at his impudence
and hypocrisy; lamented her own want of discernment;
and then calmly renounced him for ever. No doubt
she will ensnare a rich beau before the end of the year, and

then she will remember the Jew. Be silent! I hear the
tinkle of another visitor.”

This visitor, when admitted by the girl who answered the
bell, did not proceed at once to the stall of communication;
but strode backwards and forwards under the small lamp that
dimly illuminated the dreary room. And as he promenaded
words were uttered in his soliloquy, not comprehended by
the Jew.

“He's talking Latin!” said Walter, in a low tone.

“Greek too!” responded Parke.

“Greek and Latin! Who can it be? Let's have a peep
at him.”

They beheld a thin man of medium height, with a black
frock coat buttoned up to the chin. His face was very pale,
and classically handsome. His forehead, especially, was a
noble one, fair, round, and expansive. His age might be five
and thirty. At length he approached the pawnbroker's cell.

“I want money,” said he. “My name is Pollen. Perhaps
you have heard it.”

“Yes, I have heard it—and so has every body, I
suppose.”

“Is it good?”

“Good? Yes, a very good one, as a poet. And it will
be famous; for the British reviewers say you are a man of
genius.”

“If it be good, then, how much is it good for?”

“How much money? That's a different matter. I deal
in dollars and cents, and tangible valuables. The commodities
of fame and genius, and all such fanciful things, may be
esteemed by those who traffic in such articles, but I am not
one of them. I want that which I can see, feel, taste, barter,
exchange, for my money.”

“Would you not like to have your name mentioned in the
biography of a man of genius, as a generous benefactor?”

“No! What good would it do me when dead?”

“If you did not survive to enjoy it, would it not be a
credit to your despised tribe?”

“No. Rather a curse. Men of genius, lacking common
sense, improvident and poor, would be always wearying them
with their importunities, as you are now wearying me.”

“Have you no feeling for men of genius in distress? I
am in distress; and you say I have genius.”

“I attend to my business. This is my place of business.
I pursue my business to amass riches. You come to me and
speak of genius, of feeling, and such nonsense. If I can
make money by dealing with you, well; if not, leave me.”

“Enough. You can, perhaps, make money by the operation.
Here is a short poem—one of my best. I have been
paid fifty dollars for one not better nor longer. Take it, and
give me forty dollars.”

“No.”

“Thirty.”

“No.”

“Twenty.”

“No.”

“Ten.”

“No.”

“One dollar!”

“Let me see it.”

“Here it is.”

“Read it, young gentleman,” whispered the Jew, placing
the sheet in Parke's hand, “and let me have your opinion.
If it is good, I know an editor who will buy it.”

“I sell my name with it,” said the poet—“for I must eat
—and that you know is not unknown.”

“Good!” cried George.

“Glorious!” cried Walter.

“Who says so? You have company, then? Bribe them
to be silent, or this interview may be bruited over the world.
But they are critics. I shall raise the price, Shylock.
Beware! Five dollars is the very least I will take for my
poem.”

“If the publishers have paid as high as fifty dollars, why
did you not apply to them?”

“I did. I came from one of them directly to you.
Happy thought!”

“Was it approved?”

“Yes. But unfortunately I was something in arrears for
former advances, and desired to obtain the cash for this poem.
But they wanted it in fulfilment of an engagement. I
promised others, but insisted on having the price of the
present production, to answer my immediate necessities.
They would not believe me, which is a provocative of delinquency.
But I will fulfil all my engagements. Do you buy

it, and I will dedicate it to you for a certain consideration,
received in advance—”

“Aha! Now you are the man of business. See now, if I
was not right awhile ago.”

“Very right. What shall the dedication be worth? I
must know beforehand. A friend once dedicated to a rich
man, and did not receive, in return, so much as an acknowledgment
of the compliment. Business men must be dealt with
in a business like manner. Men of great hearts in a noble
manner. Asses in an asinine manner.”

“How will you classify me?”

“As you may deserve.”

“I will give you five dollars for the poem.”

“Good! I shall eat again, and then sleep.”

“The dedication?”

“D— the dedication. Your name shall not be associated
with mine.”

“Not on the same bond, truly. But mine would bring the
most money.”

“The most filth—dust, dust, dust—what is money, but so
much of the dross of the earth, whilst my coinage is indestructible!”

“I will not give you five dollars for the poem.”

“Then pass it back.”

“I'll give you ten!” cried Walter.

“Are you there, young Truepenny? Come forth. You
shall have it, and share a jovial bottle with me besides. Come
forth.”

The young gentlemen joined him immediately, notwithstanding
the attempts of the Jew to the contrary, and the
three sallied forth together. The name of the poet, Harold
Pollen, was familiar to the young men, and that of Winkle
was not unknown to the poet, for he had once been an invited
guest at Miss Wilsome's mansion, and had played whist with
her. A few moments sufficed for introduction, and then it
was agreed they should immediately proceed together to the
“Winkle Mansion,” as it was called.