"Service?" cried Somerset. "Do you mean that you expect me to empty your slops?" The gentleman regarded him with a very friendly interest. "My dear fellow," said he, "if you take my advice, you will give up this business." And thereupon he resumed his hat and took himself away. This smarting disappointment produced a strong effect on the artist of the cartoons; and he began with shame to eat up his rosier illusions. First one and then the other of his great works was condemned, withdrawn from exhibition, and relegated, as a mere wall-picture, to the decoration of the dining-room. Their place was taken by a replica of the original watered announcement, to which, in particularly large letters, he had added the pithy rubric: "_No service._" Meanwhile he had fallen into something as nearly bordering on low spirits as was consistent with his disposition; depressed, at once by the failure of his scheme, the laughable turn of his late interview, and the judicial blindness of the public to the merit of the twin cartoons. Perhaps a week had passed before he was again startled by the note of the knocker. A gentleman of a somewhat foreign and somewhat military air, yet closely shaven and wearing a soft hat, desired in the politest terms to visit the apartments. He had (he explained) a friend, a gentleman in tender health, desirous of a sedate and solitary life, apart from interruptions and the noises of the common lodging-house. "The unusual clause," he continued, "in your announcement, particularly struck me. 'This,' I said, 'is the place for Mr. Jones.' You are yourself, sir, a professional gentleman?" concluded the visitor, looking keenly in Somerset's face. "I am an artist," replied the young man lightly. "And these," observed the other, taking a side glance through the open door of the dining-room, which they were then passing, "these are some of your works. Very remarkable." And he again and still more sharply peered into the countenance of the young man. Somerset, unable to suppress a blush, made the more haste to lead his visitor upstairs and to display the apartments. "Excellent," observed the stranger, as he looked from one of the back windows. "Is that a mews behind, sir? Very good. Well, sir: see here. My friend will take your drawing-room floor; he will sleep in the back drawing-room; his nurse, an excellent Irish widow, will attend on all his wants and occupy a garret; he will pay you the round sum of ten dollars a week; and you, on your part, will engage to receive no other lodger? I think that fair." Somerset had scarcely words in which to clothe his gratitude and joy. "Agreed," said the other; "and to spare you trouble, my friend will bring some men with him to make the changes. You will find him a retiring inmate, sir; receives but few, and rarely leaves the house except at night."