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In the buzz of voices that followed, Marcia commenced a lively colloquy with Greenleaf, as though she desired to leave him under the impressions with which the evening commenced. The amusements of summer were discussed, the merits of watering-places and other fashionable resorts, when Greenleaf accidentally mentioned that he and Easelmann were going presently to Nahant.
On his way down Washington Street, Easelmann met his friend Greenleaf, whom he had not seen before for many days. "Whither, ancient mariner? That haggard face and glittering eye of yours might hold the most resolute passer-by." "You, Easelmann! I am glad to see you. I am in trouble." "No doubt; enthusiastic people always are.
Monroe was walking sorrowfully homeward, when he met Easelmann near the corner of Summer Street. He was in no humor for conversation, but he could not civilly avoid the painter, who evidently was waiting to speak to him. "Glad to see one man that isn't a capitalist. You and I, Monroe, are independent of banks and brokers." Monroe faintly smiled.
"Yes, sus. per coll., as the Newgate records have it, hung himself with his handkerchief, an article he might have put to better use." And Easelmann blew a vigorous blast with his, as he laid down the pipe. "You understand, choking is disagreeable, painful, in fact, and, if indulged in long enough, is apt to produce unpleasant effects. Remember, I once warned you against it."
"One relief you must have had in the galleries," retorted Easelmann; "your all-round shirt-collar wouldn't choke you quite so much when your head was cocked back." Adonis-in-bag adjusted his polished all-rounder with a delicately gloved finger, and declared that the painter was "a jol-ly fel-low."
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