THE AMERICAN
in varnished boots between the Rue d'Anjou and the Rue de l'Université, taking the Boulevard des Italiens on the way, when over there in America one's promenade was a continent and one's boulevard stretched from one world-sea to another. It mortified him moreover to have to understand that Valentin wanted for money; it was n't business, that was what was the matter with it, he would have said; it was unpractical, unsuitable, unsightly—very much as if he had n't known how to spell or to ride. There was something almost ridiculously anomalous to Newman in the sight of lively pretensions unaccompanied by a considerable control of Western railroads; though I may add that he would not have maintained that such advantages were in themselves a proper ground for pretensions. "I 'll put you into something," he said at any rate; "I 'll see you through. I know half a dozen things in which we can make a place for you. You 'll find it a big rush and you 'll see some high jumps; it will take you a little while to get used to the scale. But you 'll work in before long and at the end of six months—after you 've tasted blood, after you've done a thing or two on your own account—you 'll have some good times. And then it will be very pleasant for you having your sister over there. It will be pleasant for her to have you too. Yes, Valentine," he continued, pressing his comrade's arm genially, "I think I see just the opening for you. Keep quiet, and I'll find something nice—I 'll fix you all right."
Newman pursued this favouring strain over a wide stretch of prospect; the two men strolled about for
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