“I thought you was in a broker’s office.”
“So I was, and hope to be again; but just now I’m out of a place, so I’ve gone into business on my own account.”
“But, good gracious, how can you sell papers?”
“It’s the only thing that offered, and I must earn my living.”
“Suppose the Count Ernest de Montmorency should see you,—what would he say?”
“I hope he would buy a paper of me,” returned Gilbert, smiling.
“And your friends, the Vivians,—they would be awfully shocked.”
“I can’t help it. I must earn a living. Won’t you have a paper, Mr. Jones? I’ve got all the morning papers—‘Times,’ ‘Tribune,’ ‘Herald,’ ‘Sun.’”
“I’m afraid I haven’t got any change,” said Alphonso, whose large expenditure for clothing compelled him to economize on minor matters. “But, really, now, you aint going to keep the thing up, are you?”
“Till I get something better,” said Gilbert, firmly. “I hope that will be soon. I don’t like it myself.”