words on it, all about how 'Fanny' had given him to
her; and so there's a 'Fanny' somewhere--don't you think so? But I
forgot, you don't know about the pigeon--do you?"

Miss Lavinia was completely astounded. "Old Scowley," "Mr. Jinks,"
"pigeon," "paper round his neck," and "Fanny,"--all these objects
were inextricably mingled in her unfortunate brain, and she could not
disentangle them from each other, or discover the least clue to the
labyrinth. She, therefore, gazed at Verty with more overwhelming
dignity than ever, and not deigning to make any reply to his rhapsody,
sailed by with a stiff inclination of the head, toward the door. But
Verty was growing gallant under Mr. Roundjacket's teaching. He
rose with great good humor, and accompanied Miss Lavinia to her
carriage--he upon one side, the gallant head clerk on the other--and
politely assisted the lady into her chariot, all the time smiling in a
manner which was pleasant to behold.

His last words, as the door closed and the chariot drove off, were--

"Recollect, Miss Lavinia, please don't forget to give my love to
Redbud!"

Having impressed this important point upon Miss Lavinia, Verty
returned to the office, with the sighing Roundjacket, humming one of
his old Indian airs, and caressing Longears.

CHAPTER XVII.

MR. JINKS AT HOME.

The young man sat down at his desk, and began to write. But this
occupation did not seem to amuse him, and, in a few moments, he threw
away the pen he was writing with, and demanded another from Mr.
Roundjacket.

That gentleman complied, and made him a new one.

Verty wrote for five minutes with the new one; and then split it
deplorably. Mr. Roundjacket heard the noise, and protested against
such carelessness.

"Oh," sighed Verty, "this writing is a terrible thing to-day; I want a
holiday."

"There's no holiday in law, sir."

"Never?"

"No, never."

"It's a very slavish thing, then," Verty said.

"You are not far wrong there, young man," replied his companion; "but
it also has its delights."

"I have never seen any."

"You are a savage."

"I believe I am."

"Your character is like your costume--barbarous."

"Yes--Indian," said Verty; "but I just thought, Mr. Roundjacket, of my
new suit. To-day was to be the time for getting it."

"Very true," said the clerk, laying down his pen, "and as everything
is best done in order, we will go at once."

Roundjacket opened Mr. Rushton's door, and informed him