Mr. Talbot was accustomed to this style of greeting from his principal, and, responding heartily to it and the inquiries accompanying it, he took a seat.  With hat and cane in hand he sat on his little chair, showing his handsome teeth, twirling his light mustache, and looking at the proprietor with his keen gray eyes, his whole attitude and physiognomy expressing the words as plainly as if he had spoken them:  “I’m your man; now, what are you up to?”

“Toll,” said Mr. Belcher deliberately, “I’m going to surprise you.”

“You usually do,” responded the factor, laughing.

“I vow, I guess that’s true!  You fellows, without any blood, are apt to get waked up when the old boys come in from the country.  Toll, lock the door.”

Mr. Talbot locked the door and resumed his seat.

“Sevenoaks be hanged!” said Mr. Belcher.

“Certainly.”

“It’s a one-horse town.”

“Certainly.  Still, I have been under the impression that you owned the horse.”

“Yes, I know, but the horse is played out.”

“Hasn’t he been a pretty good horse, and earned you all he cost you?”

“Well, I’m tired with living where there is so much infernal babble, and meddling with other people’s business.  If I sneeze, the people think there’s been an earthquake; and when I whistle, they call it a hurricane.”

“But you’re the king of the roost,” said Talbot.

“Yes; but a man gets tired being king of the roost, and longs for some rooster to fight.”

Mr. Talbot saw the point toward which Mr. Belcher was drifting, and prepared himself for it.  He had measured his chances for losing his business, and when, at last, his principal came out with the frank statement, that he had made up his mind to come to New York to live, he was all ready with his overjoyed “No!” and with his smooth little hand to bestow upon Mr. Belcher’s heavy fist the expression of his gladness and his congratulations.

“Good thing, isn’t it, Toll?”

“Excellent!”

“And you’ll stand by me, Toll?”

“Of course I will; but we can’t do just the old things, you know.  We must be highly respectable citizens, and keep ourselves straight.”

“Don’t you undertake to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs,” responded the proprietor with a huge laugh, in which the factor joined.  Then he added, thoughtfully:  “I haven’t said a word to the woman about it, and she may make a fuss, but she knows me pretty well; and there’ll be the biggest kind of a row in the town; but the fact is, Toll, I’m at the end of my rope there.  I’m making money hand over hand, and I’ve nothing to show for it.  I’ve spent about everything I can up there, and nobody sees it.  I might just as well be buried; and if a fellow can’t show what he gets, what’s the use of having it?  I haven’t but one life to live, and I’m going to spread, and I’m going to do it right here in New York; and if I don’t make some of your nabobs open their eyes, my name isn’t Robert Belcher.”