myself in time. I was very guarded and careful
in my speech, but finally expressed my readiness
to come to terms with my new employer. These
were soon settled: Mr. Kerby Postlethwaite
having even more liberal views as to this part
of the business than those entertained by Mr.
Price Scrooper.

The only difficulty was to supply this
gentleman quickly enough with what he wanted.
He was in a hurry. He was going that very
evening to a dinner-party, and it was supremely
important that he should distinguish himself.
The occasion was a special one. It must be
something good. He would not stick at a trifle
in the matter of terms, but he did want something
super-excellent. A riddle—a perfectly
new riddle—he would like best.

My stores were turned over, my desk was
ransacked, and still he was not satisfied.
Suddenly it flashed into my mind that I had
something by me which would exactly do. The very
thing; a riddle alluding to a subject of the day;
a subject just at that time in everybody's mouth.
One which there would be no difficulty in leading
up to. In short, a very neat thing indeed.
There was but one doubt in my mind. Had I
already sold it to my original employer? That
was the question, and for the life of me I could
not answer it with certainty. The life of one
addicted to such pursuits as mine, is chaotic;
and with me more particularly, doing an extensive
public and private trade, it was especially
so. I kept no books, nor any record of my
professional transactions. One thing which
influenced me strongly to believe the riddle to
be still unappropriated, was, that I had
certainly received no intelligence as to its success
or failure from Mr. Scrooper, whereas that
gentleman never failed to keep me informed on that
momentous point. I was in doubt, but I ended
(so princely were the terms offered by my new
patron) in giving myself the benefit of that
doubt, and handing over the work of art in
question to Mr. Kerby Postlethwaite.

If I were to say that I felt comfortable after
having brought this transaction to a close, I
should not speak the truth. Horrible
misgivings filled my mind, and there were
moments when, if it had been possible to undo
what was done, I should have taken that
retrogressive step. This, however, was out of the
question. I didn't even know where my new
employer was to be found. I had nothing for it
but to wait and try my best to feel sanguine.

The circumstances which distinguished the
evening of that eventful day on which I first
received a visit from my new patron, were
subsequently related to me with great accuracy,
and not without rancorous comment, by both
of those who sustained leading parts in the
evening's performances. Yes, terrible to relate,
on the following day both my patrons came to
me, overflowing with fury, to tell me what had
happened, and to denounce me as the first cause
of the mischief. Both were furious, but my more
recent acquaintance, Mr. Postlethwaite, was the
more vehement in his wrath.

It appeared, according to this gentleman's
statement, that having repaired at the proper
time to the residence of the gentleman whose
guest he was to be that evening, and who,
he took occasion to inform me, was a personage
of consideration, he found himself in the midst
of a highly distinguished company. He had
intended to be the last arrival, but a fellow named
Scrooper, or Price, or something of that sort—
both names, perhaps—was yet expected. He
soon arrived, however, Mr. Postlethwaite said,
and the company went down to dinner.

Throughout the meal, the magnificent nature
of which I will not dilate upon, these two
gentlemen were continually at loggerheads.
They appear—and in this both the accounts
which reached me tally—to have contradicted
each other, interrupted each other, cut into each
other's stories, on every occasion, until that
sort of hatred was engendered between them
which Christian gentlemen sharing a meal
together do sometimes feel towards each other.
I suspect that each had heard of the other as
a "diner-out," though they had not met
before, and that each was prepared to hate the
other.

Adhering to the Postlethwaitean narrative
faithfully, I find that all this time, and even
when most aggravated by the conduct of my
earliest patron, he was able to comfort himself
with the reflection that he had by him in store
the weapon wherewith, when the proper moment
should arrive, to inflict the coup de grace upon
his rival. That weapon was my riddle—my riddle
fitted to a topic of the day.

The moment arrived. I shudder as I proceed.
The meal was over, the wines had circulated once,
and Mr. Kerby Postlethwaite began gently
insidiously and with all the dexterity of an old
performer, to lead the conversation in the direction
of THE TOPIC. His place was very near to the
seat occupied by my original patron, Mr. Price
Scrooper. What was Mr. Postlethwaite's
astonishment to hear that gentleman leading such
conversation, as was within his jurisdiction,
also in the direction of THE TOPIC! "Does he
see that I want a lead, and is he playing into
my hands?" thought my newest client.
"Perhaps he's not such a bad fellow, after all. I'll
do as much for him another time." This
amicable view of the matter was but of brief
duration. Madness was at hand! Two voices
were presently heard speaking simultaneously:

MR. PRICE SCROOPER. The}
subject suggested a riddle to  }
me this morning, as I was         }
thinking it over.                          } Both speaking
MR.KERBY POSTLETHWAITE. } at once.
A view of the thing struck me    }
in the light of a riddle, this        }
morning, quite suddenly.         }

The two were silent, each having stopped the
other.

"I beg your pardon," said my first patron,
with ferocious politeness, "you were saying
that you——"

"Had made a riddle," replied my second