m and read it carefully, with
many varying expressions on his face. The last expression of all,
however, was grief and pain. As he finished, his head again drooped,
and his sorrowful eyes were fixed on vacancy.

"I'll tell you what it is, Verty, my friend," said Roundjacket,
chuckling, "I don't think we make much by keeping you from paying a
daily visit to some of your friends. My own opinion is, that you would
do more work if you went and had some amusement."

"And I think so, too," said a rough voice behind the speaker, whose
back was turned to the front door of the office; "it is refreshing
to hear you talking sense, instead of nonsense, once in your life,
Roundjacket."

And Mr. Rushton strode in, and looked around him with a scowl.

"Good morning, sir," said Verty, sadly.

"Good morning, sir?" growled Mr. Rushton, "no, sir! it's a a bad
morning, a wretched, diabolical morning, if the sun _is_ pretending to
shine."

"I think the sunshine is very pretty, sir."

"Yes--I suppose you do--I have no doubt of it--everything is pretty,
of course,--Roundjacket!"

"Well?"

"Did you get exhibit 10?"

"I did, sir," replied Roundjacket, sighting his ruler to see if it was
straight. "Have you had your breakfast, sir?"

"Yes, sir; why did you ask?"

"Oh, nothing--you know I thought you uncommonly amiable this morning."

Mr. Rushton scowled, and the ghost of a smile passed over his rigid
lips.

"I am nothing of the sort! I'm a perfect bear!" he growled.

"Not inconsistent with my former observation that you were better than
usual," observed Roundjacket, with an agreeable smile. "I can prove to
you quite readily that--"

"You are a ninny--I have no doubt of it--if I would listen to your
wretched jabber! Enough! if you talk any more I'll go home again. A
fine state of things, truly--that I am to have my mind dissipated when
I'm in working trim by the nonsense of a crack-brained poet!"

Roundjacket's indignation at this unfeeling allusion to his great poem
was so intense, that for the moment he was completely deprived of
utterance.

"And as for you, young man," said Mr. Rushton, smiling grimly at
Verty, "I suppose you are following the ordinary course of foolish
young men, and falling in love! Mark me, sir! the man that falls in
love makes a confounded fool of himself--you had better at once go
and hang yourself. Pretty people you are, with your 'eyes' and
'sighs'--your 'loves' and 'doves'--your moonlight, and