With a low, shabby bow, as grateful for the permission, the other began: “Our office——”
“Look you,” broke in the bachelor with ire, “have you the spinal complaint? What are you ducking and groveling about? Keep still. Where’s your office?”
“The branch one which I represent, is at Alton, sir, in the free state we now pass,” (pointing somewhat proudly ashore).
“Free, eh? You a freeman, you flatter yourself? With those coat-tails and that spinal complaint of servility? Free? Just cast up in your private mind who is your master, will you?”
“Oh, oh, oh! I don’t understand—indeed—indeed. But, respected sir, as before said, our office, founded on principles wholly new——”
“To the devil with your principles! Bad sign when a man begins to talk of his principles. Hold, come back, sir; back here, back, sir, back! I tell you no more boys for me. Nay, I’m a Mede and Persian. In my old home in the woods I’m pestered enough with squirrels, weasels, chipmunks, skunks. I want no more wild vermin to spoil my temper and waste my substance. Don’t talk of boys; enough of your boys; a plague of your boys; chilblains on your boys! As for Intelligence Offices, I’ve lived in the East, and know ’em. Swindling concerns kept by low-born cynics, under a fawning exterior wreaking their cynic malice upon mankind. You are a fair specimen of ’em.”
“Oh dear, dear, dear!”
“Dear? Yes, a thrice dear purchase one of your boys would be to me. A rot on your boys!”
“But, respected sir, if you will not have boys, might we not, in our small way, accommodate you with a man?”
“Accommodate? Pray, no doubt you could accommodate me with a bosom-friend too, couldn’t you? Accommodate! Obliging word accommodate: there’s accommodation notes now, where one accommodates another with a loan, and if he don’t pay it pretty quickly, accommodates him, with a chain to his foot. Accommodate! God forbid that I should ever be accommodated. No, no. Look you, as I told that cousin-german of yours, the herb-doctor, I’m now on the road to get me made some sort of machine to do my work. Machines for me. My cider-mill—does that ever steal my cider? My mowing-machine—does that ever lay a-bed mornings? My corn-husker—does that ever give me insolence? No: cider-mill, mowing-machine, corn-husker—all faithfully attend to their business. Disinterested, too; no board, no wages; yet doing good all their lives long; shining examples that virtue is its own reward—the only practical Christians I know.”