"Did you not see me one evening, some time ago, in the omnibus?" asked Dr. Sevier. "Why, no," replied the other, with returning pleasure; "was I in the same omnibus?" "You were on the sidewalk." "No-o," said Richling, pondering. "I've seen you in your carriage several times, but you"-- "I didn't see you." Richling was stung. The conversation failed. He recommenced it in a tone pitched intentionally too low for the alert ear of Narcisse. "Doctor, I've simply called to say to you that I'm out of work and looking for employment again." "Um--hum," said the Doctor, with a cold fulness of voice that hurt Richling afresh. "You'll find it hard to get anything this time of year," he continued, with no attempt at undertone; "it's very hard for anybody to get anything these days, even when well recommended." Richling smiled an instant. The Doctor did not, but turned partly away to his desk, and added, as if the smile had displeased him:-- "Well, maybe you'll not find it so." Richling turned fiery red. "Whether I do or not," he said, rising, "my affairs sha'n't trouble anybody. Good-morning!" He started out. "How's Mrs. Richling?" asked the Doctor. "She's well," responded Richling, putting on his hat and disappearing in the corridor. Each footstep could be heard as he went down the stairs. "He's a fool!" muttered the physician. He looked up angrily, for Narcisse stood before him. "Well, Doctah," said the Creole, hurriedly arranging his coat-collar, and drawing his handkerchief, "I'm goin' ad the poss-office." "See here, sir!" exclaimed the Doctor, bringing his fist down upon the arm of his chair, "every time you've gone out of this office for the last six months you've told me you were going to the post-office; now don't you ever tell me that again!" The young man bowed with injured dignity and responded:-- "All a-ight, seh." He overtook Richling just outside the street entrance. Richling had halted there, bereft of intention, almost of outward sense, and choking with bitterness. It seemed to him as if in an instant all his misfortunes, disappointments, and humiliations, that never before had seemed so many or so great, had been gathered up into the knowledge of that hard man upstairs, and, with one unmerciful downward wrench, had received his seal of approval. Indignation, wrath, self-hatred, dismay, in undefined confusion, usurped the faculties of sight and hearing and motion. "Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, "I 'ope you fine you'seff O.K., seh, if you'll egscuse the slang expwession." Richling started to move away, but checked himself. "I'm well, sir, thank you, sir; yes, sir, I'm very well." "I billieve you, seh. You ah lookin' well." Narcisse thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned upon the outer sides of his feet, the embodiment of sweet temper. Richling found him a wonderful relief at the moment. He quit gnawing his lip and winking into vacancy, and felt a malicious good-humor run into all his veins.