The panorama, from thence nearly to the end of it—­or rather the beginning—­was a repetition of jungles and deserts, varied by an occasional swamp, all diversified with the heads and tails of indigenous animals.  The last hundred feet was the river Gambier, over which Patching had introduced a sunrise of the most gorgeous description, at the earnest request of Wesley Tiffles.

Patching explained:  “In my opinion, such effects are tawdry, and detract not only from the severe simplicity, but from the UNITY which should pervade a painting of this description.  Of course, I wash my hands of all these innovations upon the province of high Art.”

“And I cheerfully shoulder them,” said Tiffles.  “I know what the public want.  They want any quantity of sunsets, crocodiles, lions, and other objects of interest.  If we had time and money to spare, and I could overcome Patching’s scruples—­do you understand?—­I would put ’em in twice as thick.  Men of genius, like Patching, cannot be expected to be practical.”

The artist shrugged his shoulders, and smiled.

Tiffles then repeated his invitation to Marcus to accompany him on his first expedition into the interior of New Jersey; but Marcus positively declined.  Tiffles said he would send him a note a day or two before the panorama started, and hoped that Marcus would conclude to go, just for the fun of the thing.

Marcus then shook hands with Patching—­who made his long finger nail amicably felt—­and with Tiffles, and withdrew to the entry, followed by the latter individual.

Tiffles closed the door.  “By the way,” said he, as if the thought occurred to him then for the first time, “can you spare thirty-five dollars to-day?  Pay you on the—­let me see—­on the first of next month.  By that time the panorama will be fairly under headway, and coining money.” (Tiffles always fixed his days of payment with great particularity.)

Marcus, without saying a word, produced his pocket book, and counted out thirty-five dollars.  Tiffles had already borrowed from Overtop and Maltboy, but had generously spared the oldest of the three bachelors.  Marcus felt that his time had come, and he would not meanly avoid his destiny.  He placed the money in Tiffles’s hand.

“Give you my note?” asked Tiffles.

“Oh, no!” said Marcus; “make it a matter of honor.”

Tiffles pocketed the funds, placed his hand over his heart, and replied that it should be.  “But, now I think of it,” he suddenly added, “I want exactly sixty-three dollars—­do you understand?—­to see me through with this panorama.  Suppose you make it twenty-eight dollars more.”

Marcus smiled, and said that he didn’t understand; whereat Tiffles laughed outright, to show that he took no offence at the refusal; and creditor and debtor parted with mutual good wishes.

CHAPTER III.

LOVING AFAR OFF.