I have 'em. You'll find
it's just the same as art--all observation and imagination only more
movement. Just wait till you begin to feel the charm!"

I might have waited long. Perhaps I lack a sense; for our whole
existence seemed to me one dreary bustle, and the place we bustled in
fitly to be called the Place of Yawning. I slept in a little den behind
the office; Pinkerton, in the office itself, stretched on a patent sofa
which sometimes collapsed, his slumbers still further menaced by an
imminent clock with an alarm. Roused by this diabolical contrivance, we
rose early, went forth early to breakfast, and returned by nine to what
Pinkerton called work, and I distraction. Masses of letters must be
opened, read, and answered; some by me at a subsidiary desk which had
been introduced on the morning of my arrival; others by my bright-eyed
friend, pacing the room like a caged lion as he dictated to the tinkling
type-writers. Masses of wet proof had to be overhauled and scrawled upon
with a blue pencil--"rustic"; "six-inch caps"; "bold spacing here"; or
sometimes terms more fervid--as, for instance, this (which I remember
Pinkerton to have spirted on the margin of an advertisement of Soothing
Syrup), "Throw this all down. Have you never printed an advertisement?
I'll be round in half-an-hour." The ledger and sale-book, besides, we
had always with us. Such was the backbone of our occupation, and
tolerable enough; but the far greater proportion of our time was
consumed by visitors--whole-souled, grand fellows no doubt, and as sharp
as a needle, but to me unfortunately not diverting. Some were apparently
half-witted, and must be talked over by the hour before they could reach
the humblest decision, which they only left the office to return again
(ten minutes later) and rescind. Others came with a vast show of hurry
and despatch, but I observed it to be principally show. The agricultural
model, for instance, which was practicable, proved a kind of fly-paper
for these busybodies. I have seen them blankly turn the crank of it for
five minutes at a time, simulating (to nobody's deception) business
interest: "Good thing this, Pinkerton? Sell much of it? Ha! Couldn't use
it, I suppose, as a medium of advertisement for my article?"--which was
perhaps toilet soap. Others (a still worse variety) carried us to
neighbouring saloons to dice for cocktails and (after the cocktails were
paid) for dollars on a corner of the counter. The attrac