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meeting him but that was all.  He�s naturally
suspicious � always was so.    We parted, he promising
to call on me.                Returning to the Pic: I wasted
nearly an hour waiting for Bellew, who according to
his invariable habits of delay didn�t appear, getting
wrathy enough.  Partly in the big, dull office, partly
in the dank, drizzly street where the tide of Nassau
Street employees, male and female, was setting up-
townwards.    Strongly inclined to go and seize copy and
clear � didn�t though.   To Brooklyn, cars, to Par-
tons.   A vile muddy, dank, miserable day as any in
the calendar.   Parton and Fanny came to the door
just as I had rung the bell.   They had been, the
whole day, house hunting in New York; deciding on
leaving Brooklyn in May.                Talk of Jim�s southern
tour, supper, Mort Thomson came after and
stayed till bed-time.  Parton and I upstairs to smoke
a cigar; he generously interesting himself as to my
fortunes � wanted me to try a story or so for the
�Ledger,� volunteering that if �should be read�. (He
had forgotten my bit of chaff about �Silenus Gobb� in
the P.N.Y.B.H, and Bonner�s resenting it � that�s 
blocked my chance there, and if that didn�t do it, 
the Omnibus �cawicachaws� would.    Said so.) Down
stairs again.       Mort says O�Brien has gone to
Boston, having entirely used up all his chances here.
He was shewn the door at the Everett House.     The
�Diamond Lens� theft ended all his chance in the