After passing his fingers through his bristling locks, which had the effect of giving each particular hair an upward tendency,—a favorite habit of Mr. Sharp, who regards it perhaps as the sign of an aspiring intellect,—our attorney put on his white hat and, opening the door of his office, stepped out upon the landing. Before locking the door he carefully affixed a card bearing upon it, in bold characters, “Absent on Business.” Mr. Sharp never dispenses with this little formality, even when he is only going round the corner to order an oyster-stew, or to a neighboring hotel to while away an hour at billiards. Entertaining broad and philosophic views of life, he regards any action, however trivial, in the light of business; and with this idea feels abundantly justified in leaving behind him this standing notice. And who shall say he is not right?
It chanced on this particular occasion, however, that Mr. Sharp’s business was really of a professional character.
On the stairs our lawyer met a stout, puffy little counsellor, whose business yielded him probably an income of from eight to ten thousand dollars a year. Mr. Sharp bowed with a mixture of condescension and affability. Passing a door on a lower floor, he noticed an umbrella standing outside. Was it in a fit of absence of mind that Mr. Sharp appropriated it, and with innocent unconsciousness raised it above his head when he got into the street? If so, his temporary abstraction served him in good stead since the rain was already beginning to fall.
Reaching the street he was accosted by a newsboy who was anxious to place in his hands a sheet containing a record of all the latest news that had transpired in both hemispheres—and all for the insignificant sum of five cents! Mr. Sharp took the paper. He then began to fumble about in his pocket for the required change.
“Bless me!” he exclaimed, after two or three dives which brought forth nothing, “I believe on my soul that I haven’t got any change. Such a ridiculously small sum, too!”
He looked pensively at the boy, who gazed at him in return in patient expectation.
After a moment’s pause the lawyer explained, suddenly, “Perhaps you can change a fifty?”
“Half a dollar!” said the boy, briskly, “Oh, yes!” and he forthwith pulled out a handful of small silver pieces mingled with pennies.
“My young friend,” remarked Mr. Sharp, graciously, “I meant a fifty-dollar bill.”
The newsboy whistled. “Perhaps you take me for a bank,” he remarked. “I can’t change no fifties. I can change a one or a two may be.”