friend, Jim Pinkerton. As for the young lady with whom my mind was at

the moment chiefly occupied, I was never to hear more of her from that

day forward: an excellent example of the Blind Man's Buff that we call

life.

CHAPTER III. TO INTRODUCE MR. PINKERTON.

The stranger, I have said, was some years older than myself: a man of a

good stature, a very lively face, cordial, agitated manners, and a gray

eye as active as a fowl's.

"May I have a word with you?" said I.

"My dear sir," he replied, "I don't know what it can be about, but you

may have a hundred if you like."

"You have just left the side of a young lady," I continued, "towards

whom I was led (very unintentionally) into the appearance of an offence.

To speak to herself would be only to renew her embarrassment, and I

seize the occasion of making my apology, and declaring my respect, to

one of my own sex who is her friend, and perhaps," I added, with a bow,

"her natural protector."

"You are a countryman of mine; I know it!" he cried: "I am sure of it

by your delicacy to a lady. You do her no more than justice. I was

introduced to her the other night at tea, in the apartment of some

people, friends of mine; and meeting her again this morning, I could not

do less than carry her easel for her. My dear sir, what is your name?"

I was disappointed to find he had so little bond with my young lady;

and but that it was I who had sought the acquaintance, might have been

tempted to retreat. At the same time, something in the stranger's eye

engaged me.

"My name," said I, "is Loudon Dodd; I am a student of sculpture here

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