"You are making it akin to 'the music of the spheres,'" said Mr. Linden.
"Is that what you find in Pattaquasset?" said the doctor. "Your ears must be pleasantly constituted—or more agreeably saluted than those of other mortals. The only music I know of here is Miss Derrick's voice. Does she feed upon roses, like the Persian bulbul?"
"I should suppose not—unless roses impart their colour in that way," said Mr. Linden, softly turning the folded paper from side to side.
"This is a nice place," said the doctor surveying the room—"and you look very comfortable. I should like to take your invitation and sit down—but I mustn't. Won't you try and put a good opinion of me into the head of Mrs Derrick?"
"What an extraordinary request!" said Mr. Linden, laughing a little. "Pray what am I to understand by it? And why mustn't you sit down?—here is something to rejoice your heart with a few of the aforesaid upheavings of Society;" and he handed the doctor an unopened foreign newspaper.
"Absolutely irresistible!" said the doctor, and he broke the cover, took a chair and sat down before the fire; where for awhile to all appearance he also made himself 'comfortable'; and certainly turned and returned and ran over the paper in an artistic manner.
"After all," said he, "it's a bore! this alternation of knocking each other down which the nations of the earth practise,—and the societies,—and the men! It's a pugilistic world we live in, Linden. It's a bore to keep up with them,—for one must know who's atop—both in Europe and in Pattaquasset—where you are just now the king of men's mouths—And all the while it don't a pin signify, except to the one who is atop;—I beg your pardon!"
"How long must I, being 'atop,' lie here? All this week?"
"What will you do if I say more than that?"
"Why I'll listen respectfully. Do you know I like to see you sitting there?—Here is another paper for you."