. . .Mr. Dixon,” said the pawnbroker, turning to Teague’s companion, “will not you and your friend wait awhile until the storm slackens? It is pleasanter here by the fire than it is outside.”

His visitors agreed with him and accepted his invitation. They seated themselves beside the stove which stood in the center of the 199 room, and from which, through little plates of isinglass, shone cheerful light from a bed of fiery coals. Both leaned back in their chairs; both turned the palms of their hands toward the stove, to receive the grateful heat; and when the old pawnbroker joined them, smiling genially as he sank into his great arm-chair, which seemed to have been made expressly for his capacious form, the same thought came to both of his guests. To this thought Dixon gave expression.

“Mr. Rumble,” he asked, “how happened it that you became a pawnbroker?”

“Well, I might say that it was by chance,&rdqu. . . Read More