“Take all the arrangements on yourself, and give me what you think fair of our profits,” said Layton.
“That's reasonable; no man can say it ain't. What's your name, stranger?”
“My name is Alfred—But never mind my name; announce me as a Gentleman from England.”
“Who has lectured before the Queen and Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“Nay, that I have never done.”
“Well, but you might, you know; and if you didn't, the greater loss theirs.”
“Perhaps so; but I can't consent—”
“Just leave them things to me. And now, one hint for yourself: when you 're a-windin' up, dash it all with a little soft sawder, sayin' as how you 'd rather be addressin' them than the Emperor of Roosia; that the sight of men as loves liberty, and knows how to keep it, is as good as Peat's vegetable balsam, that warms the heart without feverin' the blood; and that wherever you go the 'membrance of the city and its enlightened citizens will be the same as photographed on your heart; that there's men here ought to be in Congress, and women fit for queens! And if you throw in a bit of the star-spangled—you know what—it 'll do no harm.”
Layton only smiled at these counsels, offered, however, in a spirit far from jesting; and after a little further discussion of the plan, Heron said, “Oh, if we only could get old Poll bright enough to write the placards,—that's what he excels in; there ain't his equal for capitals anywhere.”
Though Layton felt very little desire to have the individual referred to associated with him or his scheme, he trusted to the impossibility of the alliance, and gave himself no trouble to repudiate it; and after a while they parted, with a good-night and hope for the morrow.