“Professor Wesley?” remarked Persimmon, extending a grimy hand.  “Happy to see you.”

“Your most obedient,” said Tiffles, a little stiffly, for the fifteen dollars annoyed him.  It was a small sum to borrow, but a large one to pay.

“Have you such a thing as a morning newspaper about you?” asked the postmaster.  “Our bundle missed the train.  As you may naturally imagine, sir, I am anxious to see how the grand mass meeting went off last night in your city.  Perhaps you wos there?”

Tiffles had never attended such a thing in his life; although he was aware that two or three grand mass meetings were held every week about all the year round, and a dozen nightly in times of political excitement.  “No,” said he; “but will you be good enough to tell me how much you hired this room for?”

Persimmon thought how culpably ignorant some people were of the great political movements of the day, but did not say so.  Descending from politics to the subject in hand, he replied: 

“Oh! fifteen dollars, of course.  You will find it stated in my last letter to you.”  At this moment (no one of the three observing the act), the long-headed postmaster tipped a slight wink to Mr. Boolpin, who returned that signal of mutual understanding.

Tiffles handed the letter to the postmaster, pointing out the figure 5.

“Can I believe my eyes?” said the postmaster.  “True enough, it is a 5.  Confound my absent-mindedness in not puttin’ down a 1.”  It may here be said, that similar instances of mental aberration were discovered in Mr. Persimmon’s accounts toward the close of his official term.

Tiffles was staggered, as he reflected that it would take sixty full tickets to pay the single item of rent.  He had less than half a dollar in his own pocket.  Patching was, as usual, reduced to his last five-dollar bill.  Marcus had incidentally observed, a few minutes before, that he had left his wallet at home, and had only a handful of small silver about him.  Suppose the panorama should fail on the first night, and be detained for debt!  Tiffles had not thought of that.

Tiffles remonstrated, entreated, suggested compromises, but all to no purpose.  Boolpin was iron.  The best arrangement that Tiffles could make, was to postpone the final settlement of the terms until after the performance.  To that, Boolpin had not the least objection.

“One thing more,” said Boolpin.  “If there is a row, and any seats or windows are broken, you are to pay the damages.”

Tiffles laughed faintly.  “Oh! of course,” said he.  “But you never have rows here, do you?” He put the question with disguised interest.