“'He 's worth—not to reckon private engagements for fireworks in gentlemen's grounds, and the like,—he 's worth from seven to eight pounds a week.'
“'And you give him—'
“'Well, I don't give him much. It would n't do to give him much; he has no self-control,—no restraint He'd kill himself,—actually kill himself.'
“'So that you only give him—'
“'Fourteen shillings a week. Not but that I am making a little fund for him, and occasionally remitted his wife—he had a wife—a pound or so, without his knowledge.'
“'Well, he's not too dear at that,' said I. 'Now let me see and speak with him, Barry, and if I like him, you shall have a fifty-pound note for him. You know well enough that I needn't pay a sixpence. I have fellows in my employment would track him out if you were to hide him in one of his rocket-canisters; so just be reasonable, and take a good offer.'
“He was not very willing at first, but he yielded after a while, and so I became the owner of the Professor, for such they called him.”
“Had he no other name?”
“Yes; an old parrot, that he had as a pet, called him Tom, and so we accepted that name; and as Tom, or Professor Tom, he is now known amongst us.”
“Did you find, after all, that you made a good bargain?”