merely a journalist. Clear artist in
fibre. When he took his departure he bade us "Good day," and lifted
his hat.

Succeeding visits caused us to suspect that Mr. James's ideas of the
machinery of business are somewhat naive. He seemed to regard us as,
so to say, the whole works. It entered our head that maybe Mr. James
thought we received and answered all manner of correspondence,
editorial as well as that connected with the retail business, opened up
in the morning, read, accepted, and rejected manuscript, nailed up
boxes for shipment, swept out the shop, and were acquainted perfectly
with all confidential matters of the House. "I wrote you" (us), "you
know," he said. And he referred by the way, apparently upon the
assumption that the matter had been laid before us, to business of
which we could not possibly have cognizance. And then he desired to
send some books. Fumbling in his breast pocket, he produced a letter,
from which he read aloud a list of his own works apparently requested
of him. Carefully replacing his letter, he said: "I should like to
send these books to my sister-in-law." With that he started out.

Now, it was not a difficult problem to assume that this could be no
other than Mrs. William James, still, it is customary for purchasers to
state the name of the person to whom goods are to go, and many people
are sceptical that the salesman has it down right even then. "Your
sister-in-law, Mr. James, is------?" we suggested. "Oh, yes, of
course--of course; Mrs. William James; of course--of course," Mr. James
said. Now, certainly, he supposed (it was evident) he had got finally
settled a difficult and complicated piece of business. Mrs. William
James's regular address we might reasonably infer. Still it might be
that she was at the moment somewhere else, on a visit. It were better
to have Mr. James give his order in the regular way. "And the
address?" we mentioned. "Oh, yes--oh, yes; of course--of course," Mr.
James said apologetically. Then, pausing a moment to see if there was
anything more in this bewildering labyrinth of details to such a
complex transaction, he departed, taking, as he drew away, his hat, as
Mrs. Nickleby says, "completely off."

Instead of ascending directly to that regal domain which is unaware of
our existence, Mr. James, with the inclination of a bow, approached us
one day and inquired, in a manner as though the decision rested largely
with us, whether he "coul