Mr. Jorrocks, who, hamper in hand, had elbowed his way with persevering resignation, here found himself so beset with friends all anxious to wring his digits, that, fearful of losing either his bed or his friends, he besought Green to step on to the “White Hart” and see about accommodation.  Accordingly Green ran his fingers through the bushy sides of his yellow wig, jerked up his gills, and with a neglige air strutted up to that inn, which, as all frequenters of Margate know, stands near the landing-place, and commands a fine view of the harbour.  Mr. Creed, the landlord, was airing himself at the door, or, as Shakespeare has it, “taking his ease at his inn,” and knowing Green of old to be a most unprofitable customer, he did not trouble to move his position farther than just to draw up one leg so as not wholly to obstruct the passage, and looked at him as much as to say “I prefer your room to your company.”  “Quite full here, sir,” said he, anticipating Green’s question.  “Full, indeed?” replied Jemmy, pulling up his gills—­“that’s werry awkward, Mr. Jorrocks has come down with myself and a friend, and we want accommodation.”  “Mr. Jorrocks, indeed!” replied Mr. Creed, altering his tone and manner; “I’m sure I shall be delighted to receive Mr. Jorrocks—­he’s one of the oldest customers I have—­and one of the best—­none of your ‘glass of water and toothpick’ gentleman—­real downright, black-strap man, likes it hot and strong from the wood—­always pays like a gentleman—­never fights about three-pences, like some people I know,” looking at Jemmy.  “Pray, what rooms may you require?” “Vy, there’s myself, Mr. Jorrocks, and Mr. Jorrocks’s other friend—­three in all, and we shall want three good, hairy bedrooms.”  “Well, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Creed, laughing, “about their hairiness, but I can rub them with bear’s grease for you.”  Jemmy pulled up his gills and was about to reply, when Mr. Jorrocks’s appearance interrupted the dialogue.  Mr. Creed advanced to receive him, blowing up his porters for not having been down to carry up the hamper, which he took himself and bore to the coffee-room, amid protestations of his delight at seeing his worthy visitor.

Having talked over the changes of Margate, of those that were there, those that were not, and those that were coming, and adverted to the important topic of supper, Mr. Jorrocks took out his yellow and white spotted handkerchief and proceeded to flop his Hessian boots, while Mr. Creed, with his own hands, rubbed him over with a long billiard-table brush.  Green, too, put himself in form by the aid of the looking-glass, and these preliminaries being adjusted, the trio sallied forth arm-in-arm, Mr. Jorrocks occupying the centre.  It was a fine, balmy summer evening, the beetles and moths still buzzed and flickered in the air, and the sea rippled against the shingly shore, with a low indistinct murmur that scarcely sounded among the busy hum of men.  The shades of night were drawing