Very commonplace, no doubt,—­but still worth an occasional thought.  As for those who demand that natural and simple feelings shall be ignored, and that every chapter shall record something not less startling than murder or treason, are there not already means for gratifying their tastes?  Do not the “Torpedo” and the “Blessing of the Boudoir” give enough of these delicate condiments with the intellectual viands they furnish?  Let old-fashioned people enjoy their plain dishes in peace.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The reader may be quite sure that Greenleaf lost no time in presenting himself at Easelmann’s studio on the morning after his last interview.

“On hand early, I see,” said the elder.  “And how fresh you look!  The blood comes dancing into your face; you are radiant with expectation.”

“You mummy, what do you suppose I am made of, if the thought of meeting Alice should not quicken my blood a little?”

“If it were my case, I think my cheeks would tingle from another cause.”

“Now you need not try to frighten me.  I will see her first.  I don’t believe she has forgotten me.”

“Nor I; but forgetting is one thing, and forgiving is another.  Besides, we haven’t seen her yet.”

“I haven’t, I know; but I’ll wager you have.”

“Well, my Hotspur, I sha’n’t entice her away from you.”

“Let us go,” said Greenleaf.

“Presently; I must finish this pipe first; it lasts thirty-six minutes, and I have smoked only—­let me see—­twenty-eight.”

“Well, puff away; but you’ll burn up my patience with your tobacco, unless you are ready soon.”

“Don’t hurry.  You’ll get to your stool of repentance quite soon enough.  Have you heard the news?  The banks have suspended,—­ditto Fletcher, a banker’s clerk.

“What do you mean?”

“Plain enough.  The banks suspend paying specie because they haven’t any to redeem their bills; and Fletcher, because he has neither specie nor bills.”

“Fletcher suspended?”

“Yes, sus. per coll., as the Newgate records have it,—­hung himself with his handkerchief,—­an article he might have put to better use.”

And Easelmann blew a vigorous blast with his, as he laid down the pipe.

“You understand, choking is disagreeable,—­painful, in fact,—­and, if indulged in long enough, is apt to produce unpleasant effects.  Remember, I once warned you against it.”

“This matter of suicide is horrible.  Couldn’t it have been prevented?”

“Yes, if Fletcher could have got hold of Bullion.”

“Coin would have done as well, I suppose.”

“Now haven’t I been successful in diverting your attention?  You have actually punned.  Don’t you know Mr. Bullion, the capitalist?”

“I have good reason to remember him, though I don’t know him myself.  My father was once connected with him in business, and not at all to his own advantage.”