“Every one knows you’re a gentleman, Mr. Fenton,” replied Crackenfudge; “and as for me, a’d be sorry to address you as anything else.”

“I’m sorry I can’t return the compliment, then,” said Fenton; “everyone knows you’re anything but a gentleman, and that’s the difference between us.  What piece of knavery have you on the anvil now, my worthy embryo magistrate?”

“You’re severe this morning, Mr. Fenton; a’ don’t think a’ ever deserved that at your hands.  But come, Mr. Fenton, let us be on good terms.  A’ acknowledge you are a gentleman, Mr. Fenton.”

“Take care,” replied Fenton, “and don’t overdo the thing neither.  Whether is it the knave or fool predominates in you to-day, Mr. Crackenfudge?”

“A’ hope a’m neither the one nor the other,” replied the embryo magistrate.  “A’ hope a’m not, Mr. Fenton.”

“I believe, however, you happen to be both,” said Fenton; “that’s a fact as well known, my good fellow, as the public stocks there below; and if Madam Fame reports aright, it’s a pity you should be long out of them.  Avaunt, you upstart!  Before the close of your life, you will die with as many aliases as e’er a thief that ever swung from a gallows, and will deserve the swing, too, better than the thief.”

“A’ had a right to change my name,” replied the other, “when a’ got into property.  A’ was ashamed of my friends, because there’s a great many of them poor.”

“Invert the tables, you misbegotten son of an elve,” replied Fenton; “’tis they that are ashamed of you; there is not one among the humblest of them but would blush to name you.  So you did not uncover, as I desired you; but be it so.  You wish to let me, sir, who am a gentleman, know, and to force me to say, that there is a knave under your hat.  But come, Mr. Crackenfudge,” he continued, at once, and by some unaccountable impulse, changing his manner, “come, my friend Crackenfudge, you must overlook my satire.  Thersites’ mood has past, and now for benevolence and friendship.  Give us your honest hand, and bear not malice against your friend and neighbor.”

“You must have your own way, Mr. Fenton,” said Crackenfudge, smiling, or assuming a smile, and still steady as a sleuthhound to his purpose.

“Where now are you bound for, oh, benevolent and humane Crackenfudge?”

“A’ was jist thinking of asking this strange fellow—­”

“Right, O Crackenfudgius! that impostor is a fellow; or if you prefer the reverse of the proposition, that fellow is an impostor.  I have found him out.”

“A’ hard,” replied Crackenfudge, “that he and you were on rather intimate terms, and—­”

“And so as being my companion, you considered him a fellow!  Proceed, Crackenfudgius.”

“No, not at all; a’ was thinkin’ of makin’ his acquaintance, and paying some attention to him; that is, if a’ could know who and what he is.”

“And thou shalt know, my worthy mock magistrate.  I am in a communicative humor to-day, and know thou shalt.”