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that I'm going to stand this? Do you imagine that I'm going to be made the scapegoat of that young wretch in this here sort of manner?"

"Do you call this gratitude," cried Pokey, "after drinking his brandy-and-water?"

"As for you," said Obadiah, with a most ferocious aspect, "I've as great a mind to give you a regular boney fide good welting as I ever had in my life, mind you that. If you ever touch me again—if you ever dare to lay so much as a finger upon me, I'll welt you till you can't see out of your eyes."

"Well, but how is this?" said Legge. "Haven't I heard you say, five hundred times, that you cared no more for Teddy Rouse than you did for Bobby Peel?"

"Nor do I. Care for him! Why should I care? What's Teddy Rouse to me? Care for him, indeed!"

"Well it appears that you do care for him, or you wouldn't be so angry at what I said."

"Do you think that I'm going to have my character taken away then—"

"Your what!"—exclaimed Quocks—"your character? If you can find a man who can take away your character, pay him well: he'll deserve all you give him."

"Indeed! I owe you nothing: so you needn't call out so loud. But if any man in Europe lays the function to his soul that I'll stand being made the greatest liar that ever walked, he's mistaken."

"Well, the thing's done now," said Legge.

"Yes, it is done. But I'll call on Ted."

"And being done, I think we'd better drop it."

"Drop it! Yes it's all mighty fine to say drop it; but I won't let it drop. And you—you little wretch"—he added, turning to Bobber, "for two pins, I'd tan you!"

"Tan me!" cried Bobber, who was not at all afraid of him; "you talk like an old woman generally, but now you are talking like a child."

"Well come," said Quocks, "it's all over now: let's drink and forget it."

Legge brought in some beer, and endeavoured to pacify the incensed one, but Obadiah threatened still to call upon "Ted." As, however, he seldom carried his threats into execution, Legge had not the slightest fear of his doing so in this case, well knowing that as "Ted" never gave him an order, he was a man whom—above all other men alive—Obadiah abhorred.

Meanwhile, the reverend gentleman was anxiously waiting an opportunity of explaining to Sylvester the result of his interview with Obadiah, whom he conceived to be utterly irreclaimable. It was evening, however, before an opportunity occurred; but when it did occur, the reverend gentleman embraced it, and said—

"Well, I've seen that wretched man!"

"What the author of 'Old England?'"

"Yes: I've had a long talk with him."