being possessed of a superabundance of supercilious
impudence, also possessed a set of digging tools, the handles of which
were made of polished oak and walnut, with bright brass ferrules. With
these he proposed to dig his fortune in a leisurely way; meanwhile,
finding the weather rather hot, he had made up his mind to have his
portrait done.

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, this gentleman shut the door with
his heel, turned his back to the fire-place--from the mere force of
habit, for there was no fire--and again spat upon the floor, after which
he said:

"I say, stranger, what's your charge for a likeness?"

"You will excuse me, sir," answered Ned, "if, before replying to that
question, I beg of you not to spit on my floor."

The Yankee uttered an exclamation of surprise, and asked, "Why not,
stranger?"

"Because I don't like it."

"You wouldn't have me spit in my hat, would you?" inquired the dandy.

"Certainly not."

"Where then?"

Ned pointed to a large wooden box which stood close to the fire-place,
and said, "There--I have provided a box for the accommodation of those
sitters who indulge in that disagreeable practice. If you can't avoid
spitting, do it there."

"Wall, now, you Britishers are strange critters. But you haven't told
me your price for a portrait."

"I fear that I cannot paint you at any price," replied Ned, without
looking up from his paper, while Pat listened to the conversation with a
comical leer on his broad countenance.

"Why not, stranger?" asked the dandy, in surprise.

"Because I'm giving up business, and don't wish to take any more
orders."

"Then I'll set here, I guess, an' look at ye while ye knock off that
one," said the man, sitting down close to Ned's elbow, and again
spitting on the floor. Whether he did so intentionally or not we cannot
tell, probably not, but the effect upon Ned was so strong that he rose
deliberately, opened the door, and pointed to the passage thus set free,
without uttering a word. His look, however, was quite sufficient. The
dandy rose abruptly, and walked out in silence, leaving Ned to shut the
door quietly behind him and return to his work, while the Irishman
rolled in convulsions of laughter on Tom Collins's bed.

Ned's sitters, as we have hinted, were numerous and extremely various.
Sometimes he was visited by sentimental and home-sick miners, and
occasionally by dandy miners, such as we have described, but his chief
customer