"To save them and me a great deal of trouble, and at the same time for the sake of doing a fellow-man a kindness, I have decided to permit you to write my biography; then you can safely issue ten thousand copies of your first number and pocket a clear thousand."
"But, my dear pastor—he had it on the tip of his tongue to say captain—I know nothing at all about this matter."
"Never mind! Never mind! The publisher has himself written to me and asked me for my portrait. And you are to write my biography! To facilitate your work, I asked a friend to write down the principal points. You have only to write an introduction, brief and eloquent—a few sticks at the most. That's all."
So much foresight depressed Falk; he was surprised to find the portrait so unlike the original, and the friend's handwriting so much like that of the mask.
The latter, who had given him portrait and manuscript, now held out his hand expecting to be thanked.
"My regards to—the publisher."
He had so nearly said Smith, that a slight blush appeared between his whiskers.
"But you don't know my views yet," protested Falk.
"Views? Have I asked what your views are? I never ask anybody about his views. God forbid! I? Never!"
Once more he touched the backs of his publications with his whip, opened the door, let the biographer out and returned to his service at the altar.