“Can’t you find it, squire?” asked Whitticar.

“I must have lost; it on the way,” replied Mr. Stevens.  “I am sure I put it in this pocket,” and he made another search.  “No use—­I’ll have to give it up,” said he, at length; “but where is McCloskey?  I haven’t seen him since I came in.”

“He came here this afternoon, very far gone; he had been crooking his elbow pretty frequently, and was so very drunk that I advised him to go home and go to bed; so he took another dram and went away, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“That’s bad, very bad—­everything goes wrong this evening—­I wanted him to-night particularly.”  “Wouldn’t the boys go out with you?” suggested Whitticar.

“No, no; that wouldn’t do at all.  I mustn’t appear in these things.  If I’m hauled up for participation, who is to be your lawyer—­eh?”

“True for you,” rejoined Whitticar; “and I’ll just disperse the crowd as soon as I can, and there will be one peaceable night in the district at any rate.”

Not liking to give directions to the mob personally, and his useful coadjutor McCloskey not being at hand, Mr. Stevens came to the conclusion he would return to his home, and on the next evening a descent should be made upon the places marked on the list.

Taking out his watch, he found it would be too late to return to the store where he had purchased his present adornments, so he determined to start for home.

The coat that temporarily adorned the person of Mr. Stevens was of peculiar cut and colour—­it was, in fact, rather in the rowdy style, and had, in its pristine state, bedecked the person of a member of a notorious fire company.  These gentry had for a long time been the terror of the district in which they roamed, and had rendered themselves highly obnoxious to some of the rival factions on the borders of their own territory; they had the unpleasant habit of pitching into and maltreating, without the slightest provocation, any one whom their practised eyes discovered to be a rival; and by such outrages they had excited in the bosoms of their victims a desire for revenge that only awaited the occasion to manifest itself.

Mr. Stevens, in happy unconsciousness, that, owing to his habiliments, he represented one of the well-known and hated faction, walked on quite leisurely; but, unfortunately for him, his way home lay directly through the camp of their bitterest and most active enemies.

Standing in front of a tavern-window, through which a bright light shone, were a group of young men, who bestowed upon Mr. Stevens more than passing attention.  “I’m blest,” exclaimed one of them, if there ain’t a ranger! now that it a saucy piece of business, ain’t it!  That fellow has come up here to be able to go back and play brag-game.”

“Let’s wallop him, then,” suggested another, “and teach him better than to come parading himself in our parts.  I owe ’em something for the way they served me when I was down in their district.”