“Your conduct is unbearable!” he exclaimed. “You shall do me justice, sir—by heaven you shall! I am not to be treated in this way! After palming off your wretched stuff upon me, do you think I am going to submit to your ridicule! No, sir—either go forward and acknowledge yourself openly as the author, or I will post you at every corner!”
“Be calm, pray be calm—we’ll settle it all in a moment,” said Mr. Lillie, pale and trembling—“I am really sorry your first essay should have been so unsuccessful.”
“My first essay!” interrupted Harry indignantly. “I am not to be trifled with—no, sir—I will expose you at once—it is you who shall bear the ridicule, not me!” and Harry rushed to the door.
“Stop—stop—my dear young friend,” cried Mr. Lillie, catching his arm—“listen a moment; for heaven’s sake don’t expose me, it will be my ruin. I will give you any thing you ask if you will only spare me—you shall have money—”
“Money! Can money repair the disgrace you have heaped upon me—talk of money to a man who feels his future hopes blasted!” exclaimed Harry scornfully. “Sir, there is but one way to save your reputation.”
“And what is that dear sir?” eagerly demanded the author.
“Give me the hand of your daughter,” he replied firmly.
“My daughter, Mr. Warren—why you astonish me—my daughter!” and Mr. Lillie paused and pondered, bit his lips and rubbed his eyebrows. “Why bless my soul, Mr. Warren, May is but a child!”
“No matter,” was the answer, “will you or will you not accept my proposition?”
“Will not five hundred dollars, Mr. Warren—”