"Bravissimo, you improve; you will make a courtier--but mum now

about my projects. We must suppress our dignities here. We are at

the entrance of our hell!"

We had reached the door of a low habitation in a secluded street.

The house was of wood--an ordinary hovel of two stories. A cluster

of similar fabrics surrounded it, most of which I afterward

discovered--though this fact could not be conjectured by an observer

from the street--were connected by blind alleys, inner courts, and

chambers and passages running along the ground floors. We stopped

an instant, Kingsley having his hand upon the little iron knocker,

a single black ring, that worked against an ordinary iron knob.

"Before I knock," said he, in a whisper, "before I knock, Clifford,

let me say that if you have any reluctance--"

"None! none! knock!"

"You will meet with some dirty rascals, and you must not only

meet them with seeming civility, but as if you shared in their

tastes--sought the same objects only--the getting of money--the only

object which alone is clearly comprehensible by their understanding."

"Go ahead! I will see you through."

"A word more! Get yourself in play at a different table from me.

You will find rogues enough around, ready to relieve you of your

Mexicans. Leave me to my particular enemy; you will soon see whose

shield I touch--but keep an occasional eye upon us; and all that

I ask farther at your hands, should you see us by the ears, is to

keep other fingers from taking hold of mine."

A heavy stroke of the knocker, followed by three light ones and a

second heavy stroke, produced us an answer from within. The door

unclosed, and by the light of a dim lamp, I discovered before me,

as a sort of warden, a little yellow, weather-beaten, skin-dried

Frenchman, whom I had frequently before seen at a fruit-shop in

another part of the city. He looked at me, however, without any

sign of recognition--with a blank, dull, indifferent countenance;

motioned us forward in silence, and reclosing the door, sunk into

a chair immediately behind it. I followed my companion through a

passage which was unfathomably dark, up a flight of stairs, which

led us into a sort of refreshment room. Tables were spread, with

decanters, glasses, and tumblers upon them, that appeared to be in

continual use. In a recess, stood that evil convenience of most

American establishments, whether on land or sea, a liquor bar;

its shelves crowded with bottles, all of which seemed amply full,

and ready to complete the overthrow of the victim, which the other

appliances of such a dwelling must already have actively begun.

"Here you may take in the Dutch courage, Clifford, should you lack

the native. This, I know, is not the case with you, and yet the

novelty of one's situation frequently overcomes a sensitive mind

like fear. Perhaps a julep may be of use."




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