“He seems to be insane,” said the prim-looking man, “we had better order the porter to turn him out.”
“I am by no means certain,” said I, “that the porter could turn me out; always provided there is a porter, and this system of ours be not a lie, and a dream.”
“Come,” said the lion-looking man, impatiently, “a truce with this nonsense. If the porter cannot turn you out, perhaps some other person can; but to the point—you want a Bible?”
“I do,” said I, “but not for myself; I was sent by another person to offer something in exchange for one.”
“And who is that person?”
“A poor old woman, who has had what you call convictions,—heard voices, or thought she heard them—I forgot to ask her whether they were loud ones.”
“What has she sent to offer in exchange?” said the man, without taking any notice of the concluding part of my speech.
“A book,” said I.
“Let me see it.”
“Nay, brother,” said the precise man, “this will never do; if we once adopt the system of barter, we shall have all the holders of useless rubbish in the town applying to us.”