Overtop laughed. "You'll be a convert to it yet, my good fellow."

"Never," said Marcus, inflexibly, "so long as books and tobacco hold
out."

"We'll see," replied Overtop. "But let me think how we are to begin." He
rubbed his nose with a forefinger, then tossed back the cowlick, and
said, impetuously: "I have it--I have it! We know Quigg, the grocer, at
the corner below, for we are customers of his. Of course, he has an
immense number of customers on the block, and will make New Year's
calls on all of them, in the way of business. Why can't he take us in
tow? It's as plain as daylight."

"Plain enough, I admit," said Marcus Wilkeson; "but what will Quigg's
customers say?"

"Poor fellow!" returned Overtop. "How feebly you hermits reason about
society! If you had knocked round town on New Year's days, as Matt and I
have often done, you would know that visitors are valued only because
they swell the number of calls, and that it is entirely immaterial who
they are, or who introduces them. The militia general, the banker, the
judge, the D.D., the butcher, the drygoods clerk, are units of equal
value on that day, each adding one more to the score which is privately
kept behind the door. We shall be welcome; never fear for that. You must
come with us, and see for yourself."

"I thank you," said Marcus Wilkeson, laughing. "No such fooleries at my
time of life."