new bed, is a complaint from which I am entirely free.'

'I am delighted to hear it,' said the drawing-master warmly. 'But I see

I have interrupted you over the paper.'

'The Sunday paper is one of the features of the age,' said Mr Finsbury.

'In America, I am told, it supersedes all other literature, the bone and

sinew of the nation finding their requirements catered for; hundreds of

columns will be occupied with interesting details of the world's

doings, such as water-spouts, elopements, conflagrations, and public

entertainments; there is a corner for politics, ladies' work, chess,

religion, and even literature; and a few spicy editorials serve to

direct the course of public thought. It is difficult to estimate the

part played by such enormous and miscellaneous repositories in the

education of the people. But this (though interesting in itself)

partakes of the nature of a digression; and what I was about to ask you

was this: Are you yourself a student of the daily press?'

'There is not much in the papers to interest an artist,' returned

Pitman.

'In that case,' resumed Joseph, 'an advertisement which has appeared

the last two days in various journals, and reappears this morning,

may possibly have failed to catch your eye. The name, with a trifling

variation, bears a strong resemblance to your own. Ah, here it is. If

you please, I will read it to you:

WILIAM BENT PITMAN, if this should meet the eye of, he will hear of

SOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE at the far end of the main line departure

platform, Waterloo Station, 2 to 4 P.M. today.

'Is that in print?' cried Pitman. 'Let me see it! Bent? It must be Dent!

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