Mr. Burley (continuing).—"But 'The Art of Thinking,'—you charge eight shillings for 'The Art of Thinking?'"
Mr. Prickett.—"Cheap enough, Mr. Burley. A very clean copy."
Mr. Burley.—"Usurer! I sold it to you for three shillings. It is more than 150 per cent. you propose to gain from my 'Art of Thinking.'"
Mr. Prickett, (stuttering and taken aback.)—"You sold it to me! Ah! now I remember. But it was more than three shillings I gave. You forget—two glasses of brandy and water."
Mr. Burley.—"Hospitality, sir, is not to be priced. If you sell your hospitality, you are not worthy to possess my 'Art of Thinking.' I resume it. There are three shillings, and a shilling more for interest. No—on second thoughts, instead of that shilling, I will return your hospitality; and the first time you come my way you shall have two glasses of brandy and water."
Mr. Prickett did not look pleased, but he made no objection; and Mr. Burley put the book into his pocket, and turned to examine the shelves. He bought an old jest-book, a stray volume of the Comedies of Destouches—paid for them—put them also into his pocket, and was sauntering out, when he perceived Leonard, who was now standing at the doorway.
"Hem! who is that?" he asked, whispering to Mr. Prickett.
"A young assistant of mine, and very clever."
Mr. Burley scanned Leonard from top to toe.
"We have met before, sir. But you look as if you had returned to the Brent, and had been fishing for my perch."