MR. PRICKETT (stuttering and taken aback).--"_You_ sold it to me! Ah, now I remember. But it was more than three shillings I gave. You forget--two glasses of brandy-and-water." MR. BURLEY.--"Hospitality, sir, is not to be priced. If you sell your hospitality, you are not worthy to possess my 'Art of Thinking.' I resume it. There are three shillings, and a shilling more for interest. No: on second thoughts, instead of that shilling, I will return your hospitality; and the first time you come my way you shall have two glasses of brandy-and-water." Mr. Prickett did not look pleased, but he made no objection; and Mr. Burley put the book into his pocket, and turned to examine the shelves. He bought an old jest-book, a stray volume of the Comedies of Destouches--paid for them--put them also into his pocket, and was sauntering out, when he perceived Leonard, who was now standing at the doorway. "Hem! who is that?" he asked, whispering Mr. Prickett. "A young assistant of mine, and very clever." Mr. Burley scanned Leonard from top to toe. "We have met before, sir. But you look as if you had returned to the Brent, and been fishing for my perch." "Possibly, sir," answered Leonard. "But my line is tough, and is not yet broken, though the fish drags it among the weeds, and buries itself in the mud." He lifted his hat, bowed slightly, and walked on. "He _is_ clever," said Mr. Burley to the bookseller: "he understands allegory." MR. PICKETT.--"Poor youth! He came to town with the idea of turning author: you know what _that_ is, Mr. Burley." MR. BURLEY (with an air of superb dignity).--"Bibliopole, yes! An author is a being between gods and men, who ought to be lodged in a palace, and entertained at the public charge upon Ortolans and Tokay. He should be kept lapped in down, and curtained with silken awnings from the cares of life--have nothing to do but to write books upon tables of cedar, and fish for perch from a gilded galley. And that's what will come to pass when the ages lose their barbarism, and know their benefactors. Meanwhile, sir, I invite you to my rooms, and will regale you upon brandy-and-water as long as I can pay for it; and when I can not, you shall regale me." Mr. Prickett muttered, "A very bad bargain, indeed," as Mr. Burley, with his chin in the air, stepped into the street. CHAPTER XX. At first, Leonard had always returned home through the crowded thoroughfares--the contact of numbers had animated his spirits. But the last two days, since his discovery of his birth, he had taken his way down the comparatively unpeopled path of the New Road. He had just gained that part of this outskirt in which the statuaries and tomb-makers exhibit their gloomy wares--furniture alike for gardens and for graves--and, pausing, contemplated a column, on which was placed an urn half covered with a funeral mantle, when his shoulder was lightly tapped, and, turning quickly, he saw Mr. Burley standing behind him.