“Certainly—certainly, Mr. Harkins,” said Mr. Toosypegs, drawing out a purse well-filled with gold, and opening it nervously. “Three—five—ten dollars, and two for the drive’s twelve; and one to buy sugar-plums for your infant family—if you’ve got such a thing about you—is thirteen. Here’s thirteen dollars, Mr. Harkins. I’m very much obliged to you.”
“Same to you, Mr. Toosypegs,” said Mr. Harkins, pocketing the money, with a broad grin. “‘May you ne’er want a frien,’ nor a bottle to give him,’ as the poic says.”
“Mr. Harkins, I’m obliged to you,” said Mr. Toosypegs, grasping his hand, which Mr. Harkins resigned with a grunt. “You have a soul, Mr. Harkins. I know it—I feel it. Everybody mightn’t find it out; but I can—I perceived it from the first.”
Mr. Harkins heard this startling fact with the greatest indifference, merely saying, “Humph!”
“And now, how far do you suppose we are from the city, Mr. Harkins!” said Mr. Toosypegs, in his most insinuating tone.
“’Bout a mile or so.”
“Could you recommend any hotel to me, Mr. Harkins. I’m a stranger in the city, you know, and should feel grateful if you would,” said Mr. Toosypegs, humbly.
“Why, yes, I can,” said Mr. Harkins, brightening suddenly up. “There’s the ‘Blue Pig,’ one of the finest ’otels in Lunnon, with the best o’ ’commodations for man and beast. You’ve heern o’ the ‘Blue Pig’ over there in Hamerica, hain’t you?”
Mr. Toosypegs wasn’t sure. It was very likely he had; but, owing to his bad memory, he had forgotten.