him forgetful of syntax. "Mark me, my friend, I am not to be bought," he
continued in unconscious blank verse. "I _shall_ take my pick, sir, and
_you_ will take this check." And he handed the amazed publisher a check
for five hundred dollars. "I sicken, sir," he continued, "of this
qualmish air of half-truth that I have breathed so long. I am going to
read these books, and say what I think of 'em, and five hundred dollars
is dirt cheap for the privilege. I had sooner that every 'New
Publications' ad. should die out of my newspaper than that my literary
columns should be contaminated with a Lie! Never mind the change, sir.
If anything is left over, send it to the proprietor of the new penny
paper that is struggling to keep its head above water. Don't say that it
came from me. Say that it came from a converted roper-in." And Mr.
BEZZLE stalked out of the office in such a tempest of morality that the
publisher felt as though a tidal wave of virtue had swept over him.

After this, Mr. BEZZLE'S dream became a trifle confused; but he thought
that this noble course of conduct was greatly approved by the public,
that its eminent practicability commended it to all classes of people,
and that theatres, publishers, and others quadrupled their
advertisements. "Ah!" sighed Mr. BEZZLE, rubbing his hands, but still
asleep, "what a sweet thing virtue is! Honesty _is_ the best policy
after all!"

At this moment his elbow was nudged, and opening his eyes he beheld one
of the office boys, whom he had sent up to the theatre half an hour ago,
to ask for six reserved seats near the stage.

"Mr. PUPPET says he's very sorry, sir," said the boy, "but the seats is
all taken for to-night, and so he can't send any."