hungry; he was always thirsty. He came early; he stayed late; he could not pass a restaurant; he looked with a lecherous eye upon every wine shop. Suggestions to stop, excuses to eat and to drink were forever on his lips. We tried all we could to fill him so full that he would have no room to spare for a fortnight; but it was a failure. He did not hold enough to smother the cravings of his superhuman appetite.
He had another “discrepancy” about him. He was always wanting us to buy things. On the shallowest pretenses, he would inveigle us into shirt stores, boot stores, tailor shops, glove shops—any where under the broad sweep of the heavens that there seemed a chance of our buying any thing. Any one could have guessed that the shopkeepers paid him a per centage on the sales; but in our blessed innocence we didn’t, until this feature of his conduct grew unbearably prominent. One day, Dan happened to mention that he thought of buying three or four silk dress patterns for presents. Ferguson’s hungry eye was upon him in an instant. In the course of twenty minutes, the carriage stopped.
“What’s this?”
“Zis is ze finest silk magazin in Paris—ze most celebrate.”
“What did you come here for? We told you to take us to the palace of the Louvre.”
“I suppose ze gentleman say he wish to buy some silk.”
“You are not required to ‘suppose’ things for the party, Ferguson. We do not wish to tax your energies too much. We will bear some of the burden and heat of the day ourselves. We will endeavor to do such ‘supposing’ as is really necessary to be done. Drive on.” So spake the doctor.
Within fifteen minutes the carriage halted again, and before another silk store. The doctor said:
“Ah, the palace of the Louvre—beautiful, beautiful edifice! Does the Emperor Napoleon live here now, Ferguson?”
“Ah, doctor! You do jest; zis is not ze palace; we come there directly. But since we pass right by zis store, where is such beautiful silk—”
