Estabrook rubbed his eyes and looked at the man through a spy-glass. “Can it be possible,” thought he, “that good luck has found me at last, and that I am about to realize the Actual from my splendid ideas? This must be the very man whom I have wanted so much to find.” A long and earnest confab took place. Perhaps two persons never before met, whose brains rattled with more incoherence, than did those of Tirrell and Estabrook. If the first was ignorant, impudent and stupid, the other greatly transcended him by a fanatical adherence to his own visionary fooleries. His plans and projects for astonishing the world were as numerous as the phases of a kaleidescope, and his explanations thereof were as voluminous and intelligible as a colloquial parody from that useful bird, the goose. “I will tell you what it is, Mr. Tirrell,” said he, “we have a fortune within our grasp. I have the mind and you the means. We must get up something which has never been dreamed of before. It’s of no use to think of starting a common newspaper; the very idea of it is vulgar--yet it must be a publication of some kind. Now, I propose that we issue a journal in the shape and style of a LETTER; print it in the smallest type--cram a large amount of racy matter into a small space--and then fold it up and seal it. Let the price be six cents a copy, and a figure indicating this sum can be stamped with red ink on the outside, as though it were the postage by mail. Then let us send a copy to every man, woman, and child, in this great city, under a written direction. In this guise and shape every body will jump after it, and the result will be, that we shall sell at least two hundred thousand copies a day. You see they will be so pleased with the contents, that after they receive the first letter they will be still more and more greedy to get the succeeding ones. Now, just reckon up how much 200,000 letters a day, at six cents each, will amount to in a year.” Tirrell drew from his pocket a ponderous gold pencil and began to cypher. After scratching his head for a half hour he suddenly leaped from his chair in a perfect phrenzy of exultation. The amount was enormous. The golden egg was discovered. Nobody else had found it out. It was the most wonderful idea of the age! He patted Estabrook on the shoulder as fondly as a cat would play with a philosopher’s stone, and immediately invited him to partake of a supper of oysters. The oysters were devoured. During their mastication, Tirrell was overflowing with so much joy that he was unable to sustain a decent composure. His horse-laughs so annoyed the other patrons of the restorateur, that the host politely ordered him to quit the premises. Tirrell observed the mandate with the most indifferent contempt, and spatting a ten dollar bill on the counter, bawled out for _Wine!_ at the full blast of his lungs.