"But it is a most mortifying step to us. It is a reflection upon our hospitality. I would have worked my fingers off for her."
"No doubt. But she will merely turn hers into nutmeg-graters, by pricking them with her needle, and save you from making stumps of your own. Oh, never fear,—we shall find her presently. I'll make a description of her, and leave it with all the slop-shop fellows. 'Strayed or stolen: A young lady answering to the name of Alice; five feet and no inches; dressed in black; pale, blue-eyed, smiles when properly spoken to; of no use to any person but the owner. One thousand dollars reward, and no questions asked.' Isn't that it? It won't be necessary to add, that the disconsolate advertiser is breaking his heart on account of her absence."
"My dear Easelmann, I know your kindly heart; but I cannot be rallied out of this depression. I have only the interest of a cousin, a friend, a protector, in the girl; but her going away, after my other misfortunes, has plunged me into an abyss. I can't be cheerful."
"One word more, my dear fellow, and I go. You know I threatened to bore you every day; but I sha'n't continue the terebrations long at a time. You told me about the way your notes were disposed of. Now they are yours, beyond question, and you can recover them from the holder; he has no lien upon them whatever, for Sandford was not authorized to pledge them. It's only a spoiling of the Egyptians to fleece a broker."
"Perhaps the notes themselves are worthless, or will be. Nearly everybody has failed; the rest will go shortly."
"I see you are incurable; the melancholy fit must have its course, I suppose. But don't hang yourself with your handkerchief, nor drown yourself in your wash-basin. Good bye!"
On his way down Washington Street, Easelmann met his friend Greenleaf, whom he had not seen before for many days.
"Whither, ancient mariner? That haggard face and glittering eye of yours might hold the most resolute passer-by."
"You, Easelmann! I am glad to see you. I am in trouble."
"No doubt; enthusiastic people always are. You fretted your nurse and your mother, your schoolmaster, your mistress, and, most of all, yourself. A sharp sword cuts its own scabbard."