put up on the bulletin a notice, stating that he expected the attendance of every member on a certain evening.
The evening came, and with it came the members. The weather was sufficiently warm to admit of the windows being up, and a fine, cooling draught of air passed through the apartment. The gentlemen filled their pipes and proceeded to take it easy. Mr. Dropper hung himself upon two chairs; Boggs stretched himself upon a sofa; Van Dam took off his coat, rolled it up for a pillow, and laid himself out on the floor. Quackenbush put an easy-chair by the door, and seated himself there to act as sentinel. Mr. Spout, the Higholdboy, moved his official chair up to one of the windows, turned the back upon his fellow-members, seated himself, raised his feet to the window-casing, and said that, with his eyes looking out between the toes of his boots upon the tiles and chimney-pots, it could not be said he had seen any disorderly conduct, if the members should see fit to vary the monotony of the proceedings by getting up an extemporized row among themselves. Johnny Cake alone seemed aware that a necessity existed for the exhibition of proper dignity on the part of the meeting. He sat by the table proudly erect. His standing collar, neatly-tied cravat, and scrupulously clean exterior, corresponded with his prim deportment.
It became a serious question who should open his budget of experience first. There was no rule to coerce a member to commence; consequently, appeals were made to the magnanimity of each other. These were irresistible, and all suddenly became willing and even anxious to make the beginning.
Mr. Dropper, however, got the floor first. He insisted that he was not in the habit of appearing in large assemblies as a prominent participant in the proceedings, and, in consideration of this fact, he ventured to hope that his incipient efforts would not be judged of harshly.
Mr. Dropper's spasmodic modesty excited the boisterous mirth of his fellow-members.
Mr. Remington Dropper commenced:
"Gentlemen of the Elephant Club," said he, "the subject which I have to present for your consideration this evening is a remarkable instance of the genus homo which I accidentally came across in my peregrinations a few evenings since. I was returning home from the theatre, and in passing a door-way in Broadway, I discovered a man seated on the stone step, with his form reclining against the door-casing. The gas-light shone directly in his face, which revealed to me the fact that he was asleep. The singularity of his personal appearance could not fail to attract my attention, and I stopped to study his form, features, and dress, to determine, if I could, who and what he was. His face had evidently been put up askew. The corner of his mouth, the eye and eyebrow on one side were inclined downward, giving him a demure and melancholy look; but on the other side they were inclined upwards, which made that side show a continued grin. A front view of his face was suggestive of both joy and melancholy, which was equal to no expression at all, as the expression on one side offset that of the other. His coat, which was buttoned tightly about him, was neither a dress nor a frock, but the skirts were rounded off in front, making it a compromise between the two. His pants were also a go-between; they were neither white nor black, but in point of color, were a pepper-and-salt formation. The leg on one side was rolled up. On one foot was a boot, on the other a shoe. He wore a very dirty collar, which, on the laughing side of his face was Byronic, and on the solemn side, uncompromisingly erect. His hat was an antiquated shanghae – black on the crown and light underneath the brim. If a noun, he was certainly a very uncommon, but not strictly a proper noun. If a verb, he seemed to be passive. The tense of his general appearance it would be difficult to determine. Strictly, it was neither past nor present, nor was it in accordance with my ideas of the future. To a certain extent it was all three. His seedy exterior was the remains of the past, existing in the present, and existing prospectively in the future. His mood was subjunctive, full of doubt and uncertainty. Judging from his entire appearance, I could come to no other conclusion as respects his character, than that he was a combination of ups and downs, a concentration of small differences, a specimen of non-committalism in everything except an entire abstinence from water used as a means of purifying his body externally, and his clothing. His red nose led me to suspect that he did not bathe with cold water to an alarming extent inwardly. The individual was remarkable, not for what he was, but for what he was not.
"Such were my thoughts, gentlemen, and I determined to awake the unconscious sleeper, to see how far my conclusions were right. I shook him well, and accompanied my act with a peremptory order to 'get up.' After a moment he roused himself and looked at me, but immediately dropped his eyes. I commenced a dialogue with him, which, as near as I can recollect, was as follows:
"'What are you doing here?' said I.
"'Dun'no,' was the response.
"'You're certainly quite drunk.'
"'Likely.'
"'That is an offence against the law.'
"'Des'say.'
"'You've been arrested for drunkenness before.'
"'Werry like. But I 'aven't been a doin' nuthin' helse.'
"'But I've arrested you before,' said I, playing the policeman, in order to continue the conversation.
"'Des'say, hofficer; but did I hoffer any resistance?'
"'Your weight did.'
"'Vas it wiolent?'
"'You were too drunk to make any violent resistance.'
"'Des'say; I honly inquired for hinformation.'
"'What's your name?'
"'Vich name do you vant to know?'
"'Your whole name, of course.'
"'Bobinger Thomas.'
"'Where were you born, Thomas?'
"'Hingland.'
"'What is your business?'
"'My perwession?'
"'Yes.'
"'It's warious. I never dabbled with law, physic, or diwinity.'
"'I asked you what your profession is – not what it isn't.'
"'My perwession now, or vot it used to vos?'
"'Your present profession, of course.'
"'Vell – nuthin'.'
"'Well, what was your profession in the past?'
"'Vot do you vant to know for?'
"'I shall answer no questions; but you must. Now tell me what your past profession was.'
"'Dogs.'
"'Are you a dog-fancier?'
"'Poss'bly; I fancies dogs.'
"'What breed of dogs do you fancy?'
"'Them as I gets in Jersey.'
"'What do you do with the dogs that you get there?'
"'I vouldn't go into the business if I vos in your sitivation. It don't pay any more, 'cause there's so many coves as has inwested. I left 'cause it vos hoverdid.'
"'I hadn't the slightest intention of going into the business. I asked you for information.'
"'Glad to 'ear you say so. I vos halmost hutterly ruined in it.'
"'Well,
