“It's deuced low, that's what it is, and that's exactly the fault of all our daily papers. Their tone is vulgar; they reflect nothing of the opinions one hears in society. Don't you agree with me?”
I gave a sort of muttering dissent, and he broke in quickly,--“Perhaps not; it's just as likely _you_ would not think them low, but take _my_ word for it, _I'm_ right.”
I shook my head negatively, without speaking.
“Well, now,” cried he, “let us put the thing to the test Read out one of those leaders. I don't care which, or on what subject Read it out, and I pledge myself to show you at least one vulgarism, one flagrant outrage on good breeding, in every third sentence.”
“I protest, sir,” said I, haughtily, “I shall do no such thing. I have come here neither to read aloud nor take up the defence of the public press.”
“I say, look out!” cried he; “you 'll smash something in that bag you 're kicking there. If I don't mistake, it's Bohemian glass. No, no; all right,” said he, examining the number, “it's only Yarmouth bloaters.”
“I imagined these contained despatches, sir,” said I, with a look of what he ought to have understood as withering scorn.
“You did, did you?” cried he, with a quick laugh. “Well, I 'll bet you a sovereign I make a better guess about _your_ pack than you 've done about _mine_.”
“Done, sir; I take you,” said I, quickly.
“Well; you 're in cutlery, or hardware, or lace goods, or ribbons, or alpaca cloth, or drugs, ain't you?”
“Well, you 're an usher in a commercial academy, or 'our own correspondent,' or a telegraph clerk?”
“I 'm none of these, sir. And I now beg to remind you, that instead of one guess, you have made about a dozen.”
“Well, you 've won, there's no denying it,” said he, taking a sovereign from his waistcoat-pocket and handing it to me. “It's deuced odd how I should be mistaken. I 'd have sworn you were a bagman!” But for the impertinence of these last words I should have declined to accept his lost bet, but I took it now as a sort of vindication of my wounded feelings. “Now it's all over and ended,” said he, calmly, “what are you? I don't ask out of any impertinent curiosity, but that I hate being foiled in a thing of this kind. What are you?”
“I 'll tell you what I am, sir,” said I, indignantly, for now I was outraged beyond endurance,--“I 'll tell you, sir, what I am, and what I feel myself,--one singularly unlucky in a travelling-companion.”