“Oh,” sighed Verty, “this writing is a terrible thing to-day; I want a holiday.”

“There’s no holiday in law, sir.”

“Never?”

“No, never.”

“It’s a very slavish thing, then,” Verty said.

“You are not far wrong there, young man,” replied his companion; “but it also has its delights.”

“I have never seen any.”

“You are a savage.”

“I believe I am.”

“Your character is like your costume—­barbarous.”

“Yes—­Indian,” said Verty; “but I just thought, Mr. Roundjacket, of my new suit.  To-day was to be the time for getting it.”

“Very true,” said the clerk, laying down his pen, “and as everything is best done in order, we will go at once.”

Roundjacket opened Mr. Rushton’s door, and informed him where he was going, and for what purpose—­a piece of information which was received with a growl, and various muttered ejaculations.

Verty had already put on his fur hat.

“The fact is,” said Roundjacket, as they issued forth into the street of the town, followed by Longears, “the old fellow, yonder, is getting dreadfully bearish.”

“Is he, sir?”

“Yes; and every year it increases.”

“I like him, though.”

“You are right, young man—­a noble-hearted man is Rushton; but unfortunate, sir,—­unfortunate.”

And Mr. Roundjacket shook his head.

“How?”

“That’s his secret—­not mine,” was the reserved reply.

“Well, I won’t ask it, then,” Verty said; “I never care to know anything—­there’s the tailor’s, aint it?”

“Yes, that is the shop of the knight of the shears,” replied the clerk, with elegant paraphrase; “come, let us get on.”

They soon reached the tailor’s, which was not far from the office, on the same street; and Mr. O’Brallaghan came forward, scissors in hand, and smiling, like a great ogre, who was going to snip off people’s heads, and eat them for his breakfast—­only to satisfy his hunger, not from any malevolent feeling toward them.  Mr. O’Brallaghan, as his name intimated, was from the Emerald Isle—­was six feet high—­had a carotty head, an enormous grinning mouth, and talked with the national accent.  Indeed, so marked was this accent, that, after mature consideration, we have determined not to report any of this gentleman’s remarks—­naturally distrustful as we are of our ability to represent the tone in which they were uttered, with any degree of accuracy.  We shall not see him frequently, however, and may omit his observations without much impropriety.

Mr. O’Brallaghan surveyed Verty’s lythe and well-knit figure, clad in its rude forest costume, with patronizing favor.  But when Roundjacket informed him, with hauteur, that “his friend, Mr. Verty,” would give him an order for three suits:—­one plain, one handsome, one very rich—­the great O’Brallaghan became supple and polite; and evidently regarded Mr. Verty as some young lord, in disguise.