"I am a lawyer, madam," said he, fearful that the announcement would not be well received. "Fayette Overtop, firm of Overtop & Maltboy."
Mrs. Slapman mused a moment, and said:
"It is a little singular, that, among my large collection--I mean circle--of friends, there shouldn't be a single lawyer."
"As I am a single lawyer, Mrs. Slapman, it is within my power to supply that deficiency among those who are honored with your friendship." Mr. Overtop thought, with some reason, as he finished this remark, that he had never said a better thing in his life.
Mrs. Slapman's severe taste rejected Overtop's pun, but not himself, and she was about to say that she should put him on the list for her next conversazione, when another awkward interruption occurred, in this wise:
Signor Mancussi was a gentleman with an Italian name and a perfect knowledge of English, who sang bass parts in a church up town, and enjoyed the reputation of having personated the chief Druid in Norma, at an early period of the New York opera. M. Bartin played one of numerous violins at the Academy of Music, and was believed to be kept down only by a powerful combination. Three months before this New Year's day, both of these gentlemen had volunteered their services, in company with many other musical people, to give a grand concert in aid of a benevolent enterprise. To M. Bartin, as a man supposed to know something of sharp management, from his connection with the opera, was intrusted the supreme control of the whole affair. It is due to M. Bartin to say, that he tried to perform his laborious duties faithfully and with perfect justice to his associates.
When, therefore, in ordering the printing of the gigantic posters which heralded the concert, he directed his own name to be placed at the head of the "eminent artists who had offered their services for the occasion," and in type half as large again as any of the rest, he only expressed a conscientious opinion of his superiority over all of them. In this opinion his associates happened to disagree with him, each one claiming that himself, and nobody else, was entitled to typographical precedence.
Most keenly was the alleged injustice felt by Signer Mancussi, who stood at the foot of the sloping list in letters less than an inch long; and he had made a solemn vow to revenge himself on M. Bartin the first time that they met after the concert. Their simultaneous appearance at Mrs. Slapman's was that time. M. Bartin had been privately informed of the Signer's intentions, and regretted that that gentleman's ridiculous vanity should get the better of his judgment. Seeing him at Mrs. Slapman's, M. Bartin avoided the Signer's presence, fearing they might come into a collision disgraceful to the time and the place. The Signer, for the same considerate reasons, kept shy of M. Bartin. After dodging each other for a long time, they were at last brought, by accident, face to face. M. Bartin was calm. Signor Mancussi tried to be tranquil, but those small, lean black letters at the foot of the list rose vividly to his mind; and, before he could check himself, he had whispered, or hissed, between his set teeth, the word,
"SCOUNDREL!"
M. Bartin was taken unawares, but had sufficient presence of mind to reply, "You're another," in a whisper, low, but freighted with meaning.