As he did he observed me apparently waiting there and his eye with a quick glance took in the title of the paper in my hand.

Instantly he stepped up beside me and tapping me on the arm said in a low tone: "Whom do you represent ?" I was somewhat taken aback by this inquiry, not seeing at the moment its immediate relation to the business at hand, but for want of a better answer I replied in the same spirit: "Artemas Quibble." "Oh! Quibble, eh! I've heard of him.

But look here, my young friend, there is no reason why honest men should cut one another's throats.

Tell my friend Quibble I was here before ye and keep this for yourself." And with that he peeled a twenty-dollar bill from the top of a heavy roll that he produced from his pocket and placed it within my palm.
"Very good," said I.

"It may cost me dear if Quibble hears of it, but a man must live, and I work at starvation wages." I placed the bill in my breast pocket and made way for him to enter the store, which he did without more ado.