“And oh, Roundhand!” continued our governor, “draw a cheque for seven hundred, will you!  Come, don’t stare, man; I’m not going to run away!  That’s right,—­seven hundred—­and ninety, say, while you’re about it!  Our board meets on Saturday, and never fear I’ll account for it to them before I drive you down.  We shall take up the Chancellor at Whitehall.”

So saying, Mr. Brough folded up the cheque, and shaking hands with Mr. Roundhand very cordially, got into his carriage-and-four (he always drove four horses even in the City, where it’s so difficult), which was waiting at the office-door for him.

Bob Swinney used to say that he charged two of the horses to the Company; but there was never believing half of what that Bob said, he used to laugh and joke so.  I don’t know how it was, but I and a gent by the name of Hoskins (eleventh clerk), who lived together with me in Salisbury Square, Fleet Street—­where we occupied a very genteel two-pair—­found our flute duet rather tiresome that evening, and as it was a very fine night, strolled out for a walk West End way.  When we arrived opposite Covent Garden Theatre we found ourselves close to the “Globe Tavern,” and recollected Bob Swinney’s hospitable invitation.  We never fancied that he had meant the invitation in earnest, but thought we might as well look in:  at any rate there could be no harm in doing so.

There, to be sure, in the back drawing-room, where he said he would be, we found Bob at the head of a table, and in the midst of a great smoke of cigars, and eighteen of our gents rattling and banging away at the table with the bottoms of their glasses.

What a shout they made as we came in!  “Hurray!” says Bob, “here’s two more!  Two more chairs, Mary, two more tumblers, two more hot waters, and two more goes of gin!  Who would have thought of seeing Tit, in the name of goodness?”

“Why,” said I, “we only came in by the merest chance.”

At this word there was another tremendous roar:  and it is a positive fact, that every man of the eighteen had said he came by chance!  However, chance gave us a very jovial night; and that hospitable Bob Swinney paid every shilling of the score.

“Gentlemen!” says he, as he paid the bill, “I’ll give you the health of John Brough, Esquire, and thanks to him for the present of 21_l_. 5_s_. which he made me this morning.  What do I say—­21_l_. 5_s_.?  That and a month’s salary that I should have had to pay—­forfeit—­down on the nail, by Jingo! for leaving the shop, as I intended to do to-morrow morning.  I’ve got a place—­a tip-top place, I tell you.  Five guineas a week, six journeys a year, my own horse and gig, and to travel in the West of England in oil and spermaceti.  Here’s confusion to gas, and the health of Messrs. Gann and Co., of Thames Street, in the City of London!”

I have been thus particular in my account of the West Diddlesex Insurance Office, and of Mr. Brough, the managing director (though the real names are neither given to the office nor to the chairman, as you may be sure), because the fate of me and my diamond pin was mysteriously bound up with both:  as I am about to show.