to do. The card was accompanied by sixpence, and the artist
was profoundly grateful, and, before he put the card in his hat, read it
several times by the light of his candles to fix the address well in his
mind, in case he should lose it. The crowd was deeply interested by this
last incident, and a man in the second row with a gruff voice growled to
the artist, "You've got a chance in life now, ain't you?" The artist
answered (sniffing in a very low-spirited way, however), "I'm thankful to
hope so." Upon which there was a general chorus of "You are all right,"
and the halfpence slackened very decidedly.

I felt myself pulled away by the arm, and Mr. Click and I stood alone at
the corner of the next crossing.

"Why, Tom," said Mr. Click, "what a horrid expression of face you've
got!"

"Have I?" says I.

"Have you?" says Mr. Click. "Why, you looked as if you would have his
blood."

"Whose blood?"

"The artist's."

"The artist's?" I repeated. And I laughed, frantically, wildly,
gloomily, incoherently, disagreeably. I am sensible that I did. I know
I did.

Mr. Click stared at me in a scared sort of a way, but said nothing until
we had walked a street's length. He then stopped short, and said, with
excitement on the part of his forefinger:

"Thomas, I find it necessary to be plain with you. I don't like the
envious man. I have identified the cankerworm that's pegging away at
_your_ vitals, and it's envy, Thomas."

"Is it?" says I.

"Yes, it is," says be. "Thomas, beware of envy. It is the green-eyed
monster which never did and never will improve each shining hour, but
quite the reverse. I dread the envious man, Thomas. I confess that I am
afraid of the envious man, when he is so envious as you are. Whilst you
contemplated the works of a gifted rival, and whilst you heard that
rival's praises, and especially whilst you met his humble glance as he
put that card away, your countenance was so malevolent as to be terrific.
Thomas, I have heard of the envy of them that follows the Fine-Art line,
but I never believed it could be what yours is. I wish you well, but I
take my leave of you. And if you should ever got into trouble through
knifeing--or say, garotting--a brother artist, as I believe you will,
don't call me to character, Thomas, or I shall be forced to injure your
case."

Mr. Click parted from me with those words, and we broke off our
acquaintance.

I became enamoured. Her name was H