"I'll tell you what it is, Verty, my friend," said Roundjacket, chuckling, "I don't think we make much by keeping you from paying a daily visit to some of your friends. My own opinion is, that you would do more work if you went and had some amusement." "And I think so, too," said a rough voice behind the speaker, whose back was turned to the front door of the office; "it is refreshing to hear you talking sense, instead of nonsense, once in your life, Roundjacket." And Mr. Rushton strode in, and looked around him with a scowl. "Good morning, sir," said Verty, sadly. "Good morning, sir?" growled Mr. Rushton, "no, sir! it's a a bad morning, a wretched, diabolical morning, if the sun _is_ pretending to shine." "I think the sunshine is very pretty, sir." "Yes--I suppose you do--I have no doubt of it--everything is pretty, of course,--Roundjacket!" "Well?" "Did you get exhibit 10?" "I did, sir," replied Roundjacket, sighting his ruler to see if it was straight. "Have you had your breakfast, sir?" "Yes, sir; why did you ask?" "Oh, nothing--you know I thought you uncommonly amiable this morning." Mr. Rushton scowled, and the ghost of a smile passed over his rigid lips. "I am nothing of the sort! I'm a perfect bear!" he growled. "Not inconsistent with my former observation that you were better than usual," observed Roundjacket, with an agreeable smile. "I can prove to you quite readily that--" "You are a ninny--I have no doubt of it--if I would listen to your wretched jabber! Enough! if you talk any more I'll go home again. A fine state of things, truly--that I am to have my mind dissipated when I'm in working trim by the nonsense of a crack-brained poet!" Roundjacket's indignation at this unfeeling allusion to his great poem was so intense, that for the moment he was completely deprived of utterance. "And as for you, young man," said Mr. Rushton, smiling grimly at Verty, "I suppose you are following the ordinary course of foolish young men, and falling in love! Mark me, sir! the man that falls in love makes a confounded fool of himself--you had better at once go and hang yourself. Pretty people you are, with your 'eyes' and 'sighs'--your 'loves' and 'doves'--your moonlight, and flowers and ecstacies! Avoid it, sir! it's like honey-water--it catches the legs of flies like you, and holds you tight. Don't think you can take a slight sip of the wine, sir, and there leave off--no, sir, you don't leave off, you youngsters never do; you guzzle a gallon! The consequence is intellectual drunkenness, and thus you make, as I said before, confounded fools of yourselves! Bah! why am I wasting my time!--a vast deal of influence we people who give good advice possess! Young men will be fools to the end--go and see your sweetheart!"