Beadle's Dime Novels No. 14 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

10 . THE EMERALD NECKLACE. “Dear, dear! It'll be lonesome without your bright face at the table. Howsomever, people will take netions that they must go to the country in the summer. J never thought the country was much of a place—but every one to their taste. Don’t forget where we live when you come back, Mr. Pennon.” He promised her he that he certainly would not forget. His tea was very sweet—he liked it so; and he could not help feeling a little flattered and grateful for the preference of the good woman who dispensed to him, he was aware, a larger quantity of the sweets of life than she did to any other of ber boarders. Her partiality for him was not owing to the fact that he always paid his bill promptly when it was presented, but to that genial kindness in his voice and smile which won the hearts of all, both high and low. When he had finished his second cup, asked for his bill, settled it, and passed a few parting words of politeness with _ Mrs. Butterby, he returned to his room, and spent the evening writing letters, packing a trunk with books, clothes, and so on; and also in arranging an artist’s portfolio and camp-stool com- bined—an inyention which he had himself gotten up to suit his convenience. He went to bed just weary enough to have delightful dreams, which he took as good omens of the prosperity of his summer tour, woke up in\the morning eager and joyous, impatient for his adventures. For, although Pennon was twenty-six, he had almost the impetuosity and freshness of feeling of a child. The world was not “ Weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable” to him; he liked it—that is, pretty generally, though of course there were times when he was very miserable, as there must be with all impassioned natures and sanguine temperamenis. This particular morning he was as blithe as Shelley's skylark, and trilled several little melodies while making his toilet, not as sweet as those of that immortal bird, but quite rich and harmonious enough for a mere man without wings to soar “into heaven, or near it.” He went off in the early six o’clock train for the north, and breakfasted at a railroad station, swallowing the black coffee with an inward regret that it was not of his landlady’s make. ly started upon his journey, it matters not how or where the first three days. were passed, until toward the close comicbooks.com