Dinner was brought in.
“Come,” said Vance, “we must eat. My way of life has compelled me to suffer no excitement to impair my appetite. Indeed, I have passed through the one supreme excitement, after which all others, even the prospect of immediate death, are quite tame. Happy the man, Mr. Winslow, who can say, I cling to this life no longer for myself, but for others and for humanity!”
“Such a sentiment would better become a man of my age than of yours,” replied Winslow.
“Here’s the dinner,” said Vance. “Now let us talk nothing but nonsense. Let us think of nothing that requires the effort of a serious thought.”
“Well then,” replied Winslow. “Suppose we discuss the last number of De Bow’s Review, or that charlatan Maury’s last lying letter in the London Times.”
“Excellent!” said Vance. “For reaching the very sublime of the superficial, commend me to De Bow or to the Chevalier Maury.”
Before the dinner was over, each man felt that the day had not been unprofitable, since he had earned a friend.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
LIGHT FROM THE PIT.
“There’s not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;