of a few years, make out his account against Uncle Sam, whom he was
sure was too straightforward and generous not to allow it. 'Fact is,
stranger,' he reiterated with great assurance, 'I am almost worked to
death here.' A monster gray cat having entered the room, and inspected
curiously the several rat-traps, Mr. Prompt, as if much annoyed, drew
himself with great effort from the crippled chair, and drove her
unceremoniously out of the room, accompanying her retreat with Peters
on diplomacy. 'Then, Mr. Prompt,' said I, 'may I consider myself
entirely in your hands?' Again spreading his boots on the table, and
languidly elongating his lean body, he replied, 'nothin shorter!' In
answer to a question, he said he could fix me out with anything--from
a passport to a grindstone. In fact, he was a man of universal
qualities, and could accommodate the needy with almost anything. He
could issue a passport for the infernal regions; he could give a card
to dine with old Jones when one got there; and by way of facilitating
matters, lend him a saddle to ride there. I admitted he was
exceedingly generous, and well calculated to bring out all the various
functions known to diplomacy; but, having no taste for the sport he
proposed, intimated my preference for a box at the Opera, or an
invitation to dine with her Majesty. 'Well, I do declare,' says
Prompt, who was seized with a very troublesome cough, 'if you ain' got
a-head on me there!' Seeing his confusion, I begged he would pardon
the intimation. In reply, he good-naturedly drawled out, 'them things,
somehow, don't come within the privileges of this establishment. Can
accommodate ye with a box at the Theatre Royal, Westminster--play the
very best sort of patent farces in that national place of amusement.
Then they've an audience so forbearing, that it makes no matter what
they play, and the fun of that establishment beats bull-fighting all
holler. Should the low-comedy man some call Pam, and his walking
gentleman, John, chance to have steam up, you will be sure to get your
money's worth. Take my word, said he: Covent Garden and Drury Lane are
but dull show shops compared with it.' Again I thanked Mr. Prompt for
his kindness, and told him I would wait till the next bull-baiting
came off--understanding from good authority that such amusing
spectacles in that house had frequent possession of the boards. Did I
want to revel in the sights and dark places of London, Mr. Prompt said
I had