Rose glanced at Frere, who responded to the appeal by naming a sum exactly double the amount which Rose, in her humility, would gladly have accepted. She was about to say so, but a slight contraction in her companion’s brow warned her against committing such an imprudence. Mr. Nonpareil, however, did not appear alarmed at the magnitude of the demand, but promising to peruse the manuscript carefully (which promise he fulfilled by sending it to his paid reader, never even glancing at it himself) and to give a definite answer in the course of a few days, he bowed them out of his den in the most respectable manner possible. As soon as they had quitted the shop, Rose exclaimed, “Well, if all publishers are like Mr. Nonpareil, the less personal communication I hold with them the better I shall be pleased.” “Ay, but they are not,” returned Frere; “many of them are men of great intelligence, simple manners, and who possess much out-of-the-way knowledge, which renders them very agreeable companions. There are pompous and narrow-minded individuals in all professions. Nothing is more illogical than to generalise from a single instance; it’s certain to lead to the most absurd results. Why, I’ve actually encountered an honest lawyer and met with a disinterested patriot before now! But here comes Lewis; I wonder what conclusion he has arrived at in regard to tailors.” CHAPTER XXXV.--HOW RICHARD FRERE OBTAINED A SPECIMEN OF THE “PODICEPS CORNUTUS.” * The incident in the following chapter is taken from an anecdote related (as the author believes) in “Gilpin’s Scenery of the New Forest.” “Now for the _Podiceps Cornutus!_” exclaimed Frere, after Lewis had been made acquainted with the result of the interview with Mr. Nonpareil. “May I ask what wonderful creature rejoices in that ineffable name?” inquired Rose. “You may well say ‘wonderful creature,’” returned Frere, enthusiastically. “It’s my belief that my precious Podiceps is the first specimen which has ever been obtained in this country; and I should fancy it will be the last, too, for I don’t expect any one will be inclined to take the same amount of trouble that I took in order to get it. I was down in Lincolnshire last Christmas at a place called Water End--so named, I should imagine, on the _lucus a non luceido_ principle, because there was no end of water all round it. Well, sir” (he was addressing Rose all this time), “Fenwick, the man with whom I was staying, told me one day that he’d seen a bird when he was duck-shooting which he’d never met with before; and by the description he gave me of it, I felt almost certain it must have been a specimen of the Podiceps Cornutus, which, as I dare say you know, is scarcely ever found in this latitude.” “You must excuse my lamentable ignorance,” replied Rose, smiling, “but I was not even aware of its illustrious existence five minutes ago.”