I should have haughtily
spurned it, but I was too curious to know his name. It was William
Canfield Brewer.
"'Well, good night. May your sleep be undisturbed by my ghost stalking
solitary through your slumbers. May no fumes from my pipe interfere
with the violet de parme you represent. If you want any advertising
done, just call on me, William Canfield Brewer. I write poetry, draw
pictures, make up stories, and prove to the absolute satisfaction of
the most skeptical public that any article is even better than you say
it is. I command a princely salary,--but I can't command it long
enough. Adieu, I go, my lady, fare thee well.'
"'Good night.'
"I could hardly wait for breakfast, I was so anxious to ask about him.
I gleaned the following facts. The landlady had packed his belongings
in an old closet and rented me the room in his absence, as he surmised.
He is a darling old idiot who would rather buy the chauffeur a cigar
than pay for his board. He says it is less grubby. He is too good a
fellow to make both ends meet. He is too devoted to his friends to
neglect them for business. He can write the best ads in Chicago and
get the most money for it, but he can't afford the time. Mrs. Gaylord
is a stingy old cat, she always gets her money if she waits long
enough, and he pays three times as much as anything is worth when he
does pay.
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