ine; I know it!" he cried: "I am sure of it by
your delicacy to a lady. You do her no more than justice. I was
introduced to her the other night at tea, in the apartment of some
people, friends of mine; and meeting her again this morning, I could not
do less than carry her easel for her. My dear sir, what is your name?"

I was disappointed to find he had so little bond with my young lady; and
but that it was I who had sought the acquaintance, might have been
tempted to retreat. At the same time something in the stranger's eye
engaged me.

"My name," said I, "is Loudon Dodd; I am a student of sculpture here
from Muskegon."

"Of sculpture?" he cried, as though that would have been his last
conjecture. "Mine is James Pinkerton; I am delighted to have the
pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Pinkerton!" it was now my turn to exclaim. "Are you Broken-Stool
Pinkerton?"

He admitted his identity with a laugh of boyish delight; and indeed any
young man in the quarter might have been proud to own a sobriquet thus
gallantly acquired.

In order to explain the name, I must here digress into a chapter of the
history of manners in the nineteenth century, very well worth
commemoration for its own sake. In some of the studios at that date, the
hazing of new pupils was both barbarous and obscene. Two incidents,
following one on the heels of the other, tended to produce an advance in
civilisation by the means (as so commonly happens) of a passing appeal
to savage standards. The first was the arrival of a little gentleman
from Armenia. He had a fez upon his head and (what nobody counted on) a
dagger in his pocket. The hazing was set about in the customary style,
and, perhaps in virtue of the victim's head-gear, even more boisterously
than usual. He bore it at first with an inviting patience; but upon one
of the students proceeding to an unpardonable freedom, plucked out his
knife and suddenly plunged it in the belly of the jester. This
gentleman, I am pleased to say, passed months upon a bed of sickness
before he was in a position to resume his studies. The second incident
was that which had earned Pinkerton his reputation. In a crowded studio,
while some very filthy brutalities were being practised on a trembling
_debutant_, a tall pale fellow sprang from his stool and (without the
smallest preface or explanation) sang out, "All English and Americans to
clear the shop!" Our race is brutal, but not filthy; and the summons was
nobly r