secret of your futility in life. The world teems and bubbles with
adventure; it besieges you along the street: hands waving out of
windows, swindlers coming up and swearing they knew you when you
were abroad, affable and doubtful people of all sorts and
conditions begging and truckling for your notice. But not you:
you turn away, you walk your seedy mill round, you must go the
dullest way. Now here, I beg of you, the next adventure that
offers itself, embrace it in with both your arms; whatever it
looks, grimy or romantic, grasp it. I will do the like; the devil
is in it, but at least we shall have fun; and each in turn we shall
narrate the story of our fortunes to my philosophic friend of the
divan, the great Godall, now hearing me with inward joy. Come, is
it a bargain? Will you, indeed, both promise to welcome every
chance that offers, to plunge boldly into every opening, and,
keeping the eye wary and the head composed, to study and piece
together all that happens? Come, promise: let me open to you the
doors of the great profession of intrigue.'

'It is not much in my way,' said Challoner, 'but, since you make a
point of it, amen.'

'I don't mind promising,' said Desborough, 'but nothing will happen
to me.'

'O faithless ones!' cried Somerset. 'But at least I have your
promises; and Godall, I perceive, is transported with delight.'

'I promise myself at least much pleasure from your various
narratives,' said the salesman, with the customary calm polish of
his manner.