a crook in
his lot. Some men had big crooks, and some men had little crooks; and
although this crook made rather a bad elbow in his lot, that perhaps all
the rest was square and straight, and he could build on it to advantage,
especially if it was twenty-five feet by a hundred, which was the ordinary
width and length of 'lots in general.'

Having delivered himself of this rather confused allegory, Mr. Kornicker,
by way of farther consolation, drew out his snuff-box, and stretching out
as far as was possible without falling from his chair, tendered it to the
stranger, who in return leaning so far forward as slightly to raise his
person from the chair, gently inserted his fingers in the box, and helped
himself to a pinch, at the same time remarking, that it 'was a great
comfort, in his trying situation, to find friends who sympathized with his
misfortunes. That he _had_ found it so; and that Mr. Kornicker was a man
whose feelings did credit to human natur'.'

Kornicker disclaimed being any thing above the ordinary run of men, or
that his feelings were more than every other man possessed, or ought to
possess. But the stranger was vehement in his assertions to the contrary;
so much so, that he rose from his seat, and drawing a chair to the
opposite side of Kornicker's table, proposed that they should breakfast
together.

Kornicker shook his head:

'It's against the agreement,' said he; 'it can't be done.'

'But it _can_, Sir--it _shall_, Sir! A man of your sympathies is not to be
met with every day, and must be breakfasted with, whether he will or
not--agreement or no agreement. Don't agreement me!' said the stranger,
lifting up his chair and setting it down opposite Kornicker, with great
emphasis. 'What's the natur' of this agreement?'

Mr. Kornicker assumed a very grave and legal expression of countenance,
and without replying, asked:

'What's your name?'

'Ezra Scrake.'

'I, Edward Kornicker, forbid you, Ezra Scrake, from breakfasting with me,
telling you that it is contrary to a certain agreement, referred to but
not set forth; and I now repeat the request, that you forthwith retire to
another table, and that I be permitted to take my meal by myself.' He
threw himself back in his chair, and looked Mr. Scrake full in the face.

'And I, Ezra Scrake, say that I _won't_ leave this table, and that I
_will_ breakfast with a fellow whose benevolence might warm the witals of
a tiger.'

'Very well, Sir,' said Korni