The whole scene had been a reproachful commentary upon the stiff
American system of discouraging waiters from making remarks upon the
weather, inquiring the cost of one's new coat, conferring with one upon
the general prospects of his business for the season, or from indulging
in any of the various light conversational diversions whereby barbers,
Fulton street tailors, and other depressed gymnasts, are occasionally
and wholesomely relieved from the misery of brooding over _their_
equally dispiriting avocations.

After the departure of the future aldermen, or sheriffs, of the city,
the good old lawyer accompanied his young guest in an expeditious
assimilation of the stews; saying little, but silently regretting, for
the sake of good manners, that Mr. BLADAMS could not eat oysters without
making a noise as though they were alive in his mouth. At last, mug of
ale in hand, he turned to his clerk:

"BLADAMS!"

"Sir to you!" responded Mr. BLADAMS, hastily putting down the plate from
which he had been drinking his last drop of stew, and grasping his own
mug.

"Your health, BLADAMS.--Mr. EDWIN joins me, I'm sure.--And may the--may
our--that is, may your--suppose we call it Bump of Happiness--may your
Bump of Happiness increase."

Staring thoughtfully, Mr. BLADAMS felt for the Bump upon his head and,
having scratched what he seemed to take for it, replied: "It's a go,
sir. The Bump has increased some since KENT'S Commentaries fell on it
from that top-shelf the other day."