people of Newhaven. I
have a strong suspicion that one of our men (who sold there) has been
speculating all this while, and that he must have put front seats in his
pockets, and sold back ones. He denies what the mayor charges, but the
mayor holds on grimly. Dolby set off from Baltimore as soon as we found
out what was amiss, to examine and report; but some new feature of
difficulty must have come out, for this morning he telegraphs from New
York (where he had to sleep last night on his way to Newhaven), that he
is coming back for further consultation with the Chief. It will
certainly hurt us, and will of course be distorted by the papers into
all manner of shapes. My suspicion _may not_ be correct, but I have an
instinctive belief that it is. We shall probably have the old New York
row (and loss) over again, unless I can catch this mayor tripping in an
assertion.

In this very place, we are half-distracted by the speculators. They have
been holding out for such high prices, that the public have held out
too; and now (frightened at what they have done) the speculators are
trying to sell their worst seats at half the cost price, so that we are
in the ridiculous situation of having sold the room out, and yet not
knowing what empty seats there may be. _We_ could sell at our box-office
to any extent; but _we_ can't buy back of the speculators, because we
informed the public that all the tickets were gone. And if we bought
_under_ our own price and _sold_ at our own price, we should at once be
in treaty with the speculators, and should be making money by it! Dolby,
the much bullied, will come back here presently, half bereft of his
senses; and I should be half bereft of mine, if the situation were not
comically disagreeable.

Nothing will induce the people to believe in the farewells. At Baltimore
on Tuesday night (a very brilliant night indeed), they asked as they
came out: "When will Mr. Dickens read here again?" "Never." "Nonsense!
Not come back, after such houses as these? Come. Say when he'll read
again." Just the same here. We could as soon persuade them that I am the
President, as that I am going to read here, for the last time, to-morrow
night.

There is a child of the Barney Williams's in this house--a little
girl--to whom I presented a black doll when I was here last. I have seen
her eye at the keyhole since I began writing this, and I think she and
the doll are outside still. "When you sent it up to me by the