But, really, so long as I adhered to the common code of my profession I was in danger of going without my dinner. Just as I was at my worst and in despair something always turned up, but it was sure to be risky; and now my aunt refused to see me, and Peninnah wrote me goody-goody letters, and said Aunt Rachel had been unable to find certain bank-notes she had hidden, and vowed I had taken them. This Peninnah did not think possible. I agreed with her. The notes were found somewhat later by Peninnah in the toes of a pair of my aunt’s old slippers. Of course I wrote an indignant letter. My aunt declared that Peninnah had stolen the notes, and restored them when they were missed. Poor Peninnah! This did not seem to me very likely, but Peninnah did love fine clothes. One night, as I was debating with myself as to how I was to improve my position, I heard a knock on my shutter, and, going to the door, let in a broad-shouldered man with a whisky face and a great hooked nose. He wore a heavy black beard and mustache, and looked like the wolf in the pictures of Red Riding-hood which I had seen as a child. “Your name’s Sanderaft?” said the man. “Yes; that’s my name--Dr. Sanderaft.” As he sat down he shook the snow over everything, and said coolly: “Set down, doc; I want to talk with you.” “What can I do for you?” said I. The man looked around the room rather scornfully, at the same time throwing back his coat and displaying a red neckerchief and a huge garnet pin. “Guess you’re not overly rich,” he said. “Not especially,” said I. “What’s that your business?” He did not answer, but merely said, “Know Simon Stagers?” “Can’t say I do,” said I, cautiously. Simon was a burglar who had blown off two fingers when mining a safe. I had attended him while he was hiding. “Can’t say you do. Well, you can lie, and no mistake. Come, now, doc. Simon says you’re safe, and I want to have a leetle plain talk with you.” With this he laid ten gold eagles on the table. I put out my hand instinctively. “Let ‘em alone,” cried the man, sharply. “They’re easy earned, and ten more like ‘em.” “For doing what?” I said. The man paused a moment, and looked around him; next he stared at me, and loosened his cravat with a hasty pull. “You’re the coroner,” said he. “I! What do you mean?” “Yes, you’re the coroner; don’t you understand?” and so saying, he shoved the gold pieces toward me. “Very good,” said I; “we will suppose I’m the coroner. What next?” “And being the coroner,” said he, “you get this note, which requests you to call at No. 9 Blank street to examine the body of a young man which is supposed--only supposed, you see--to have--well, to have died under suspicious circumstances.” “Go on,” said I. “No,” he returned; “not till I know how you like it. Stagers and another knows it; and it wouldn’t be very safe for you to split, besides not making nothing out of it. But what I say is this, Do you like the business of coroner?”