“And what became of the cab?” asks Mr. Jones.

“How should I know!—­it was no affair of mine.  I dare say the horse made it right; it didn’t matter to him whether he was standing in St. Giles’s or Lincoln’s Inn, only the last was the most respectable.”

“I don’t see that,” says Mr. Manhug, refilling his pipe.

“Why, all the thieves in London live in St. Giles’s.”

“Well, and who live in Lincoln’s Inn?”

“Pshaw! that’s all worn out,” continues Manhug.  “I got to the College of Surgeons, and had a good mind to scud some oyster shells through the windows, only there were several people about—­fellows coming home to chambers, and the like; so I pattered on until I found myself in Drury-lane, close to a coffee-shop that was open.  There I saw such a jolly row!”

Mr. Muff utters this last sentence in the same ecstatic accents of admiration with which we speak of a lovely woman or a magnificent view.

“What was it about?” eagerly demand the rest of the circle.

“Why, just as I got in, a gentleman of a vivacious turn of mind, who was taking an early breakfast, had shied a soft-boiled egg at the gas-light, which didn’t hit it, of course, but flew across the tops of the boxes, and broke upon a lady’s head.”

“What a mess it must have made?” interposes Mr. Manhug.  “Coffee-shop eggs are always so very albuminous.”

“Once I found some feathers in one, and a foetal chick,” observes Mr. Rapp.

“Knock that down for a good one!” says Mr. Jones, taking the poker and striking three distinct blows on the mantel-piece, the last of which breaks off the corner.  “Well, what did the lady do?”

“Commenced kicking up an extensive shindy, something between crying, coughing, and abusing, until somebody in a fustian coat, addressing the assailant, said, ’he was no gentleman, whoever he was, to throw eggs at a woman; and that if he’d come out he’d pretty soon butter his crumpets on both sides for him, and give him pepper for nothing.’  The master of the coffee shop now came forward and said, ’he wasn’t a going to have no uproar in his house, which was very respectable, and always used by the first of company, and if they wanted to quarrel, they might fight it out in the streets.’  Whereupon they all began to barge the master at once,—­one saying ‘his coffee was all snuff and duckweed,’ or something of the kind; whilst the other told him ’he looked as measly as a mouldy muffin;’ and then all of a sudden a lot of half-pint cups and pewter spoons flew up in the air, and the three men began an indiscriminate battle all to themselves, in one of the boxes, ‘fighting quite permiscus,’ as the lady properly observed.  I think the landlord was worst off though; he got a very queer wipe across the face from the handle of his own toasting-fork.”

“And what did you do, Muff?” asks Mr. Manhug.