“A rude question, as some would say,” replied the porter, with a smile and a bow; “but Cæsar Devallé is not a coy young beauty.”
“So I perceive, Caesar,—if that's your name.”
“You do me great honour,” said the porter, “and I'm bound to venerate you, Mister—what shall I say? No offence;—but mutual confidence is the link of society. I am so far of that opinion, that I can boast of seven lovely children; and Mrs. Devallé, although full two-and-thirty when I took her in hand, already dances divinely: indeed, I can now safely confide to her the instruction of our infant progeny in the first rudiments of Terpsichore,—graceful maid!—while I teach my eldest boys the violin and shaving. We must get our bread as well as worship the muses, you know; for teeth were not given for nothing.”
“No, certainly,” observed Dick; “we know an animal's age by'em:—what's yours?”
“In round numbers—fifty.”
“I fear, my learned friend,” said Perry, “you are scarcely strong enough for my purpose.”
“I am not equal to Hercules,” replied the porter; “but I possess what that great man never did,—namely, a truck. I have often thought what wonders Hercules would have done, if somebody had made him a present of two or three trifles which we moderns almost despise. Life, you know, is short, and therefore machinery is esteemed: consequently, 'to bear and forbear' is my motto; for nobody can see the bottom of the briny waves.”
“You are rather out at elbows in your logic, Cæsar,” said Perry; “and your motto seems to me to be a non sequitur:—but you read, I perceive.”
“Yes, when my numerous occupations permit me,—for spectacles are cheap: but I find numerous faults with the doctrine of chances; and those who pretend to see through a millstone, in my opinion—”
“Keep your eye up the street,” Dick, interrupted Charles, turning from the Little Black Porter to his servant; “the wagon must be near at hand, by this time. Allow me to ask you, friend,” continued he, again addressing Cæsar Devallé, “are you a regular porter?”