MONEY MAKES THE MAN.
(A Fragment from a Romance dedicated by Mr. Punch to Mr. Diggle.)
"It is entirely your own fault," said the intruder, as he put another silver tea-pot in his bag.
"I don't see that at all," replied the master of the house, moving uneasily in his chair.
"Well, I have not time to argue with you," returned the other, as he held up an enamelled ship of beautiful workmanship. "Dear me, this is really very fine. I have never seen anything like it before! What is it?"
"I got it at a sale in Derbyshire. I fancy it must be something like the old Battersea enamel."
"Very fine! And solid silver, too! Well, in all my experience, and I have been in the profession some twenty years, I have seen nothing like it. Beautiful! Lovely!"
"If you had not tied my hands behind my back," explained the master of the house, "I could show you, by lifting that lid, you would see prettier subjects in the interior of the vessel."
"You certainly tempt me," answered the intruder, "to give you an increased facility in moving. But it is against my rules. I always work in a methodical manner, and one of my regulations is, before I open the safe, I must bind the master of the house hand and foot in an arm-chair. But what were we talking about?"
"You were saying," returned the other, with a sigh, "that it was my own fault that I find myself in this painful, this ruinous position. As a man of education I cannot see how you can advance such a proposition."