“I mean literary pursuits,” said the man with spectacles.
“Oh yes! we forgot that. Mr. *** writes the on dits for the New York ***; of course he has no time to throw away upon women. ‘Time is money,’ says Franklin.—I say, George, did you win or lose at whist?”
“I won twenty dollars.”
“Then you neither lost your time nor your money.”
“If that’s the case, George must pay the punch,” shouted the company.
“George is going to do no such thing,” replied the littérateur.
“Then let us toss up for it,” proposed Jim.
“That would not do,” objected John; “he, as a Yankee, would have the advantage in guessing.”
“I think it best,” said George, “for every man to pay his own reckoning.” So saying, he called the waiter, paid for his punch, and, without uttering another syllable, left the party to settle their accounts after their own manner.
“What a selfish, unsociable, stingy fellow that is,” cried Jim; “would not even toss up for it! and yet—would you believe it?—he is engaged to one of the prettiest girls in New England.”