Tell your friend Mr. Pinkerton that I
read his letters every week; and though I have looked
in vain lately for my Loudon's name, still I learn
something of the life he is leading in that strange Old
World depicted by an able pen."
Here was a letter that no young man could possibly
digest in solitude. It marked one of those junctures
when the confidant is necessary; and the confidant
selected was none other than Jim Pinkerton. My
father's message may have had an influence in this
decision; but I scarce suppose so, for the intimacy was
already far advanced. I had a genuine and lively taste
for my compatriot; I laughed at, I scolded, and I loved
him. He, upon his side, paid me a kind of dog-like
service of admiration, gazing at me from afar off, as
at one who had liberally enjoyed those "advantages"
which he envied for himself. He followed at heel; his
laugh was ready chorus; our friends gave him the
nickname of "The Henchman." It was in this insidious
form that servitude approached me.
Pinkerton and I read and re-read the famous news: he, I
can swear, with an enjoyment as unalloyed and far more
vocal than my own.
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