"Where are you going, madam?" asked Brown.
"Where are you going?" asked the lady.
"To the American, ma'am."
"What a coincidence!" exclaimed the lady, rolling up her black eyes.
"American House, driver."
"All right—in with you!" cried the one-eyed man, as he pitched Brown headlong into the coach, slammed the rickety door on him, sprang to his box, and lashed his sorry steeds into a gallop. In due time they arrived, and a room was engaged for the lady, and one for her cavalier.
Brown went up town as soon as he had dressed, to see his sweetheart, taking particular care to say nothing of his namesake, the fair Fanny.
The next day he was promenading Broadway with Miss S., when he was confronted, opposite St. Paul's, by a furious man, with black whiskers, who halted directly in his path.
"Do you call yourself Brown?" asked the furious man, furiously.
"That's my name, sir," said the sandy-haired young gentleman, meekly.