THE PAINTER'S BARGAIN
"Monsieur Simon!" cried a voice on the landing-place.
"C'est ici," quoth Gambouge, hastening to open the door. He did so; and lo! there was a restaurateur's boy at the door, supporting a tray, a tin-covered dish, and plates on the same; and, by its side, a tall amber-coloured flask of Sauterne.
"I am the new boy, sir," exclaimed this youth, on entering; "but I believe this is the right door, and you asked for these things."
Simon grinned, and said, "Certainly, I did ask for these things." But such was the effect which his interview with the demon had had on his innocent mind, that he took them, although he knew they were for old Simon, the Jew dandy, who was mad after an opera girl, and lived on the floor beneath.
"Go, my boy," he said; "it is good: call in a couple of hours, and remove the plates and glasses."
The little waiter trotted down stairs, and Simon sat greedily down to discuss the capon and the white wine. He bolted the legs, he devoured the wings, he cut every morsel of flesh from the breast;—seasoning his repast with pleasant draughts of wine, and caring nothing for the inevitable bill which was to follow all.
"Ye gods!" said he, as he scraped away at the backbone, "what a dinner! what wine!—and how gaily served up too!" There were silver forks and spoons, and the remnants of the fowl were upon a silver dish. "Why the money for this dish and these spoons," cried Simon, "would keep me and Mrs. G. for a month! I wish"—and here Simon whistled, and turned round to
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