"This place makes me go to sleep," said the boy. "How dull it is!"

"Dull! do you call this office dull? No, sir, as long as I am here
this place is sprightly and even poetical."

"Anan?" said Verty.

"Which means, in Iroquois or some barbarous language, that you don't
understand," replied Mr. Roundjacket. "Listen, then, young man, I mean
that the divine spirit of poesy dwells here--that nothing, therefore,
is dull or wearisome about this mansion--that all is lively and
inspiring. Trust me, my dear young friend, it was copying that
miserable deed which put you to sleep, and I can easily understand how
that happened. The said indenture was written by the within."

And Mr. Roundjacket pointed toward the sanctum of Mr. Rushton.

Verty only smiled.

Mr. Roundjacket descended from his stool, and cast his eyes upon the
paper.

"What!" he cried, "you made that picture! How, sir Upon my word, young
man, you are in a bad way. The youngster who stops to make designs
upon a copy of a deed in a law office, is on the high-road to the
gallows. It is an enormity, sir--horrible! dreadful!"

"What the devil are you shouting about there!" cried the voice of Mr.
Rushton, angrily. And opening the door between the two rooms, the