CHAPTER XXXI.
a metamorphosis more surprising than any in ovid.
"In want of money!" pushing back his chair as
from a suddenly-disclosed man-trap or crater.
"Yes," naïvely assented the cosmopolitan, "and you are going to loan me fifty dollars. I could almost wish I was in need of more, only for your sake. Yes, my dear Charlie, for your sake; that you might the better prove your noble kindliness, my dear Charlie."
"None of your dear Charlies," cried the other, springing to his feet, and buttoning up his coat, as if hastily to depart upon a long journey.
"Why, why, why?" painfully looking up.
"None of your why, why, whys!" tossing out a foot, "go to the devil, sir! Beggar, impostor!—never so deceived in a man in my life."
