invitations and engagements—­bronze versus brass.—–­What ’s the use in being frightened?  Bet it was a bump.  Pretty certain I bumped my forehead against something.  Never heard of a bronzed man before.  Have seen white men, black men, red men, yellow men, two or three blue men, stained with doctor’s stuff; some green ones, from the country; but never a bronzed man.  Poh, poh!  Sure it was a bump.  Ask Landlady to look at it.

—­Landlady did look at it.  Said it was a bump, and no mistake.  Recommended a piece of brown paper dipped in vinegar.  Made the house smell as if it were in quarantine for the plague from Smyrna, but discoloration soon disappeared,—­so I did not become a bronzed man after all,—­hope I never shall while I am alive.  Should n’t mind being done in bronze after I was dead.  On second thoughts not so clear about it, remembering how some of them look that we have got stuck up in public; think I had rather go down to posterity in an Ethiopian Minstrel portrait, like our friend’s the other day.

—­You were kind enough to say, I remarked to the Master, that you read my poems and liked them.  Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what it is you like about them?

The Master harpooned a breakfast-roll and held it up before me.—­Will you tell me,—­he said,—­why you like that breakfast-roll?—­I suppose he thought that would stop my mouth in two senses.  But he was mistaken.

—­To be sure I will,—­said I.—–­First, I like its mechanical consistency; brittle externally,—­that is for the teeth, which want resistance to be overcome; soft, spongy, well tempered and flavored internally, that is for the organ of taste; wholesome, nutritious,—­that is for the internal surfaces and the system generally.

—­Good,—­said the Master, and laughed a hearty terrestrial laugh.

I hope he will carry that faculty of an honest laugh with him wherever he goes,—­why shouldn’t he?  The “order of things,” as he calls it, from which hilarity was excluded, would be crippled and one-sided enough.  I don’t believe the human gamut will be cheated of a single note after men have done breathing this fatal atmospheric mixture and die into the ether of immortality!

I did n’t say all that; if I had said it, it would have brought a pellet from the popgun, I feel quite certain.

The Master went on after he had had out his laugh.—­There is one thing I am His Imperial Majesty about, and that is my likes and dislikes.  What if I do like your verses,—­you can’t help yourself.  I don’t doubt somebody or other hates ’em and hates you and everything you do, or ever did, or ever can do.  He is all right; there is nothing you or I like that somebody does n’t hate.  Was there ever anything wholesome that was not poison to somebody?  If you hate honey or cheese, or the products of the dairy,—­I know a family a good many of whose members can’t touch milk, butter, cheese, and the like, why, say so, but don’t find fault with the bees and the cows.  Some are afraid of roses, and I have known those who thought a pond-lily a disagreeable neighbor.  That Boy will give you the metaphysics of likes and dislikes.  Look here,—­you young philosopher over there,—­do you like candy?