"Jem Baggs, the Wandering Minstrel, by G——!" yelled a pitiful demon of a newspaper reporter.
"Who is that magnificent woman accompanying him?" inquired a dandy editor, raising his eye-glass and surveying my fair companion with an admiring gaze.
"Egad! she's a beauty!" cried all the fellows, in a chorus. Mrs. Raymond blushed and smiled. It was evident that these expressions of admiration were not displeasing to her.
"Excuse those gentlemen," said I to her, apologetically—"they are all particular friends of mine."
"I am not offended; indeed they are very complimentary," responded the lady, with a gay laugh. She had the most musical laugh in the world, and the most beautiful one to look at, for it displayed her fine, pearly teeth to the most charming advantage.
We reached the pawnbroker's and I went boldly in while Mrs. Raymond waited for me outside the door, for I did not wish her to be exposed to the mortification of being stared at by those who might be in the shop.
The pawnbroker was a gentleman of Jewish persuasion, and possessed a nose like the beak of an eagle. He took the instrument and examined it carefully,
"Vat is dish?" said he, "a harp? Oh, dat is no use. We have tousands such tings offered every day. Dere is no shecurity in mushical instruments. Vat do you want for it?"
"Ten dollars," I replied, in a tone of decision.
"Can't give it," said the Israelite—"it ish too moosh. Give you eight."