service," said I, with a sort of
sarcasm.

"Rascally print; a vile, low, radical, mill-owning organ. Pitch it
away!"

"Certainly not, sir. Being for _me_ and _my_ edification, I will beg to
exercise my own judgment as to how I deal with it."

"It's deuced low, that's what it is, and that's exactly the fault of
all our daily papers. Their tone is vulgar; they reflect nothing of the
opinions one hears in society. Don't you agree with me?"

I gave a sort of muttering dissent, and he broke in quickly,--"Perhaps
not; it's just as likely _you_ would not think them low, but take _my_
word for it, _I'm_ right."

I shook my head negatively, without speaking.

"Well, now," cried he, "let us put the thing to the test Read out one of
those leaders. I don't care which, or on what subject Read it out, and
I pledge myself to show you at least one vulgarism, one flagrant outrage
on good breeding, in every third sentence."

"I protest, sir," said I, haughtily, "I shall do no such thing. I have
come here neither to read aloud nor take up the defence of the public
press."

"I say, look out!" cried he; "you 'll smash something in that bag you
're kicking there. If I don't mistake, it's Bohemian glass. No, no; all
right," said he, examining the number, "it's only Yarmouth bloaters."

"I imagined these contained despatches, sir," said I, with a look of
what he ought to have understood as withering scorn.

"You did, did you?" cried he, with a quick laugh. "Well, I 'll bet you
a sovereign I make a better guess about _your_ pack than you 've done
about _mine_."

"Done, sir; I take you," said I, quickly.

"Well; you 're in cutlery, or hardware, or lace goods, or ribbons, or
alpaca cloth, or drugs, ain't you?"

"I am not, sir," was my stern reply.

"Not a bagman?"

"Not a bagman, sir."

"Well, you 're an usher in a commercial academy, or 'our own
correspondent,' or a telegraph clerk?"

"I 'm none of these, sir. And I now beg to remind you, that instead of
one guess, you have made about a dozen."

"Well, you 've won, there's no denying it," said he, taking a sovereign
from his waistcoat-pocket and handing it to me. "It's deuced odd how
I should be mistaken. I 'd have sworn you were a bagman!" But for the
impertinence of these last words I should have declined to accept his
lost bet, but I took it now as a sort of vindication of my wounded
feelings. "Now it's all over and ended," said he, calmly, "what are
you? I don't ask