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Updated: May 5, 2025
He moved towards him, and broached the subject afresh. The lounger shook his head. 'You may persuade that foolish Chassid, said he, 'but you cannot expect the rest of us to join with these heretics, these godless, dancing dervishes, who are capable even of saying the afternoon prayer in the evening! His neighbour was a Karaite, drifted here from another community.
Although the policeman attempted to disperse the crowd by authoritatively ordering them to "Move on! Move on!" they would merely separate in one spot to join a more clamorous group a few yards off. "What has happened?" demanded M. Verduret of a lounger near by. "The strangest thing you ever heard of," replied the man; "yes, I saw him with my own eyes.
"It is no stranger that you see before you, no mere irresponsible lounger who has butted in by chance. That is Comrade J. Fillken Wilberfloss, the editor of this journal." "The editor? I understood " "I know what you would say. You have Comrade Windsor in your mind. He was merely acting as editor while the chief was away hunting sand-eels in the jungles of Texas.
When he reached the brick house on the pike he discovered a gentleman sunk in an easy and contemplative attitude in a big chair behind the veranda railing. At the click of the gate the lounger rose and disclosed the stalwart figure and brown, smiling, handsome face of Mr. Lige Willetts, an habitual devotee of Minnie Briscoe, and the most eligible bachelor of Carlow.
She appears to have formed her notions of its probable consequences from some of the papers in the "British Essayists," "The Rambler," "The Mirror," or "The Lounger," which may have been among the English classics on the parsonage bookshelves; for she evidently imagines that an entire change of character for the worse is the usual effect of a visit to "the great metropolis," and is delighted to find that "E." is "E." still.
His great friend, Adam Smith, author of The Wealth of Nations, was still living; while Henry Mackenzie, The Man of Feeling, the most popular writer of his day, was editing The Lounger; and Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, was also a name of authority in the world of letters.
The lounger was Baron Tripeaud, the manufacturing baron the stock-jobber. The poor hunchback was Mother Bunch, who had, indeed fallen with hunger and fatigue, whilst on her way to Mdlle. de Cardoville's.
As she disappears behind the swinging outer door, this lounger becomes wonderfully alert, and hastens away as if he had just discovered his mission. Two hours later, as Cora descends the stairs and emerges into the street, the vision of a monkey-faced old man appears before her.
She ordered that it should be brought, and in it rolled, and it was looked at in every direction and sat in, and no fault could be found with it, even by the great faultfinder; but what was it called? It was neither a lounger, nor a dormeuse, nor a Cooper, nor a Nelson, nor a kangaroo: a chair without a name would never do; in all things fashionable the name is more than half.
"Sir!" cried the lounger in an angry tone. "Well! what, sir?" replied the young man, looking full in his face. "Nothing," said the lounger, turning abruptly on his heel, and grumbling as he sauntered towards an orange-colored cabriolet, on which was emblazoned an enormous coat-of-arms, surmounted by a baron's crest.
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