The gentleman took a chair, and put his hand to his forehead, as if he were in a melancholy frame of mind. Mr. Fledgeby eyed him aside, and seemed to relish his attitude.

“A fine day, sir,” remarked Fledgeby.

The little dried gentleman was so occupied with his own depressed reflections that he did not notice the remark until the sound of Mr. Fledgeby’s voice had died out of the countinghouse. Then he started, and said: “I beg your pardon, sir. I fear you spoke to me?”

“I said,” remarked Fledgeby, a little louder than before, “it was a fine day.”

“I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon. Yes.”