d it hard to get anything this time of
year," he continued, with no attempt at undertone; "it's very hard for
anybody to get anything these days, even when well recommended."

Richling smiled an instant. The Doctor did not, but turned partly away
to his desk, and added, as if the smile had displeased him:--

"Well, maybe you'll not find it so."

Richling turned fiery red.

"Whether I do or not," he said, rising, "my affairs sha'n't trouble
anybody. Good-morning!"

He started out.

"How's Mrs. Richling?" asked the Doctor.

"She's well," responded Richling, putting on his hat and disappearing in
the corridor. Each footstep could be heard as he went down the stairs.

"He's a fool!" muttered the physician.

He looked up angrily, for Narcisse stood before him.

"Well, Doctah," said the Creole, hurriedly arranging his coat-collar,
and drawing his handkerchief, "I'm goin' ad the poss-office."

"See here, sir!" exclaimed the Doctor, bringing his fist down upon the
arm of his chair, "every time you've gone out of this office for the
last six months you've told me you were going to the post-office; now
don't you ever tell me that again!"

The young man bowed with injured dignity and responded:--

"All a-ight, seh."

He overtook Richling just outside the street entrance. Richling had
halted there, bereft of intention, almost of outward sense, and
choking with bitterness. It seemed to him as if in an instant all his
misfortunes, disappointments, and humiliations, that never before had
seemed so many or so great, had been gathered up into the knowledge of
that hard man upstairs, and, with one unmerciful downward wrench, had
received his seal of approval. Indignation, wrath, self-hatred, dismay,
in undefined confusion, usurped the faculties of sight and hearing and
motion.

"Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, "I 'ope you fine you'seff O.K., seh, if
you'll egscuse the slang expwession."

Richling started to move away, but checked himself.

"I'm well, sir, thank you, sir; yes, sir, I'm very well."

"I billieve you, seh. You ah lookin' well."

Narcisse thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned upon the outer
sides of his feet, the embodiment of sweet temper. Richling found him a
wonderful relief at the moment. He quit gnawing his lip and winking into
vacancy, and felt a malicious good-humor run into all his veins.

"I dunno 'ow 'tis, Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, "but I muz tell you
the tooth; you always 'ave