the healthiest
appetite, and a certain barbaric uniformity in the bill of fare which
would throw even a Diogenes into despair. May the devil take your
leathery beef-steaks, as tough as the prose of Tacitus, your
tasteless, nondescript buckwheats, and your heavy, melancholy wines,
and I swear it would be the last you would hear of him!"

"There! that will do, Dannevig!" I cried, laughing. "You have said
more than enough to convince me of your identity. I do admit I was
sceptical as to whether this could really be you, but you have
dispelled my last doubts. It was my intention to invite you to dine
with me to-day but you have quite discouraged me. I live quite _en
garcon_, you know, and have no Chateau Yquem nor pheasant _a la Sainte
Alliance_, and whatever else your halcyon days at the Cafe Anglais may
have accustomed you to."

"Never mind that. Your company will in part reconcile me to the
republicanism of your table. And, to put the thing bluntly, can you
lend me thirty dollars? I have pawned my only respectable suit of
clothes for that amount, and in my present costume I feel
inexpressibly plebeian,--very much as if I were my own butler,
and--what is worse--I treat myself accordingly. I never knew until now
how much of the inherent dignity of a man can be divested with his
clothing. Then another thing: I am absolutely forced to do something,
and, judging by your looks, I should say that journalism was a
profitable business. Now, could you not get me some appointment or
other in connection with your paper? If, for instance, you want a
Paris correspondent, then I am just your man. I know Paris by heart,
and I have hobnobbed with every distinguished man in France."

"But we could hardly afford to pay you enough to justify you in taking
the journey on our account."

"_O sancta simplicitas_! No, my boy, I have no such intention. I can
make up the whole thing with perfect plausibility, here under your
own roof; and by little study of the foreign telegrams, I would
undertake to convince Thiers and Jules Favre themselves that I watched
the play of their features from my private box at the French opera,
night before last, that I had my eye at the key-hole while they
performed their morning ablutions, and was present as eavesdropper at
their most secret councils. Whatever I may be, I hope you don't take
me to be a chicken."

"No," I answered, beguiled into a lighter mood by his own levity. "It
might be well for you if yo