He had scarcely finished speaking, when Master Kinch made his appearance, with his hat, as usual, placed upon nine hairs, and his mouth smeared with the eggs and bacon with which he had been “staying and comforting” himself.  He took off his hat on perceiving Mr. Walters, and, with great humility, “hoped that gentleman was well.”

“Yes, very well, Kinch,” replied Mr. Walters.  “We were waiting for you.  Can you tell where this came from?” he asked, handing him the mysterious paper.

“Never seen it before, that I know of,” replied Kinch, after a short inspection.

“Well, who was here last night?” asked his father; “you said you sold suthin’?”

“So I did,” replied Kinch; “sold a whole suit; and the gentleman who put it on said he was going out for a lark.  He was changing some papers from his pocket:  perhaps he dropped it.  I’m to take this suit back to him to-day.  Here is his card.”

“By heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Walters, after looking at the card, “I know the fellow,—­George Stevens, ’Slippery George,’—­every one knows him, and can speak no good of him either.  Now I recognize the handwriting of the list; I begin to suspect something wrong by seeing his name in connection with this.”

Hereupon Kinch was subjected to a severe cross-examination, which had the effect of deepening Mr. Walters’s impression, that some plot was being concocted that would result to the detriment of the coloured people; for he was confident that no good could be indicated by the mysterious conduct of Mr. Stevens.

After some deliberation, Kinch received instructions to take home the clothes as directed, and to have his eyes about him; and if he saw or heard anything, he was to report it.  In accordance with his instructions, Master Kinch made several journeys to Mr. Stevens’s office, but did not succeed in finding that gentleman within; the last trip he made there fatigued him to such a degree, that he determined to wait his arrival, as he judged, from the lateness of the hour, that, if it was his intention to come at all that day, he would soon be there.

“I’ll sit down here,” said Kinch, who espied an old box in the back part of the entry, “and give myself a little time to blow.”

He had not sat long before he heard footsteps on the stairs, and presently the sound of voices became quite audible.

“That’s him,” ejaculated Kinch, as Mr. Stevens was heard saying, in an angry tone,—­“Yes; and a devil of a scrape I got into by your want of sobriety.  Had you followed my directions, and met me at Whitticar’s, instead of getting drunk as a beast, and being obliged to go home to bed, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, squire,” replied McCloskey, for he was the person addressed by Mr. Stevens, “a man can’t be expected always to keep sober.”

“He ought to when he has business before him,” rejoined Mr. Stevens, sharply; “how the devil am I to trust you to do anything of importance, when I can’t depend on your keeping sober a day at a time?  Come up to this top landing,” continued he, “and listen to me, if you think you are sober enough to comprehend what I say to you.”