sed a painting.

He said nothing--with his mouth; but stood at arm's length balancing the
painting and casting now upon it and now upon Joseph Frowenfeld a look
more replete with triumph than Caesar's three-worded dispatch.

The apothecary fixed upon it long and silently the gaze of a
somnambulist. At length he spoke:

"What is it?"

"Louisiana rif-using to hanter de h-Union!" replied the Creole, with an
ecstasy that threatened to burst forth in hip-hurrahs.

Joseph said nothing, but silently wondered at Louisiana's anatomy.

"Gran' subjec'!" said the Creole.

"Allegorical," replied the hard-pressed apothecary.

"Allegoricon? No, sir! Allegoricon never saw dat pigshoe. If you insist
to know who make dat pigshoe--de hartis' stan' bif-ore you!"

"It is your work?"

"'Tis de work of me, Raoul Innerarity, cousin to de disting-wish Honore
Grandissime. I swear to you, sir, on stack of Bible' as 'igh as
yo' head!"

He smote his breast.

"Do you wish to put it in the window?"

"Yes, seh."

"For sale?"

M. Raoul Innerarity hesitated a moment before replying:

"'Sieur Frowenfel', I think it is a foolishness to be too proud, eh? I
want you to say, 'My frien', 'Sieur Innerarity, never care to sell
anything; 'tis for egs-hibby-shun'; _mais_--when somebody
look at it, so," the artist cast upon his work a look of languishing
covetousness, "'you say, _foudre tonnerre!_ what de dev'!--I take dat
ris-pon-sibble-ty--you can have her for two hun'red fifty dollah!'
Better not be too proud, eh, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?"

"No, sir," said Joseph, proceeding to place it in the window, his new
friend following him about spanielwise; "but you had better let me say
plainly that it is for sale."

"Oh--I don't care--_mais_--my rillation' will never forgive me!
_Mais_--go-ahead-I-don't-care! 'T is for sale."

"'Sieur Frowenfel'," he resumed, as they came away from the window, "one
week ago"--he held up one finger--"what I was doing? Makin' bill of
ladin', my faith!--for my cousin Honore! an' now, I ham a hartis'! So
soon I foun' dat, I say, 'Cousin Honore,'"--the eloquent speaker lifted
his foot and administered to the empty air a soft, polite kick--"I never
goin' to do anoder lick o' work so long I live; adieu!"

He lifted a kiss from his lips and wafted it in the direction of his
cousin's office.

"Mr. Innerarity," exclaimed the apothecary, "I fear you are making a
great mistake."

"You tink I hass too much?"

"Well, sir,