s the name,
and there, if you had looked through the window, in a deep funnel of a
room, at a desk near the fire, head behind the open leaves of a ledger,
and feet beneath the warm recesses of the stove, sat its possessor.

Outside the railing which formed a barrier between Emanuel Griffin,
Esq., and the business world, and encompassed with a less elaborate
railing, sat, on a high stool in a cold corner, the little,
blackish-green (perhaps the color gas-light imparts to faded black)
clerk of Emanuel Griffin, Esq. Whether David Dubbs, such was he called,
derived the power of writing from his mouth; or whether the gentle
excitation of moving his lips over toothless gums assisted thought; or
whether, as some said, he chewed tobacco, a position which nobody ever
held long, as nobody ever proved him to have expectorated during his
whole life; his mouth--always closed--moved up and down, up and down,
with the motion of his pen. Hair he had none, that is, none to speak of;
there were some few isolated white locks behind his ears and at the back
of his head, but he made no pretensions to have any, and openly
acknowledged himself bald--and very candid of him it was to do so.

Chroniclers have told us how, after fierce battles that have raged from
dawn till nightfall, the moon has come calmly up from the horizon and
shone peacefully and serenely over the field of strife and death. So
arose a beneficent smile ever and anon over the wrinkled and careworn
face of the old clerk; but still he wrote on, Faithful Dave! and if
pleasant thoughts swept through him they avoided the business that
occupied his hands and did not interrupt it.

They had long sat in quietness, only broken by the noise of turning
leaves and crackling coals,--but, in truth, if David Dubbs's eye, in its
course to and from the clock, had not, like the world, worked silently
on its axis, there must have been continual creaking--when a noise like
the name of David emanated from the ledger, and following it--for it was
near-sighted--the head of Emanuel Griffin, Esq., lifted itself to an
erect posture and repeated in a less muffled tone, "David!"

"Yes, sir," answered the old clerk, in a weak little voice, and climbing
down to the floor from his perch.

"You may lock up, David. Ten thousand and odd. Ten thousand's a good
year, David; a very good year. Very--good--indeed! But go and lock up,"
and then Mr. Griffin took a glance at the clock. "Half-past six! Why
it's