He took well, and pulled ’em in most excellent for nine weeks.  At the expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed one evenin, the last Company havin been turned out, and the door shut, a wish to have a little music.

“Mr. Chops,” I said (I never dropped the “Mr.” with him; the world might do it, but not me); “Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a state of mind and body to sit upon the organ?”

His answer was this:  “Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I forgive her and the Indian.  And I am.”

It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but he sat like a lamb.  I will be my belief to my dying day, that I see his Ed expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his thoughts was.  He sat out all the changes, and then he come off.

“Toby,” he says, with a quiet smile, “the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain.”

When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a much better Society than mine or Pall Mall’s.  I giv Mr. Chops as comfortable a funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as Chief, and had the George the Fourth canvass carried first, in the form of a banner.  But, the House was so dismal arterwards, that I giv it up, and took to the Wan again.

* * * * *

“I don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, and looking hard at Trottle.  “I don’t triumph over this worthy creature.  I merely ask him if he is satisfied now?”

“How can he be anything else?” I said, answering for Trottle, who sat obstinately silent.  “This time, Jarber, you have not only read us a delightfully amusing story, but you have also answered the question about the House.  Of course it stands empty now.  Who would think of taking it after it had been turned into a caravan?” I looked at Trottle, as I said those last words, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in the same direction.

“Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber.  “You were about to say, my good man?”—­

“I only wished to ask, sir,” said Trottle doggedly, “if you could kindly oblige me with a date or two in connection with that last story?”

“A date!” repeated Jarber.  “What does the man want with dates!”

“I should be glad to know, with great respect,” persisted Trottle, “if the person named Magsman was the last tenant who lived in the House.  It’s my opinion—­if I may be excused for giving it—­that he most decidedly was not.”

With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room.

There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked sadly discomposed.  He had evidently forgotten to inquire about dates; and, in spite of his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries, it was quite as plain that the two stories he had just read, had really and truly exhausted his present stock.  I thought myself bound, in common gratitude, to help him out of his embarrassment by a timely suggestion.  So I proposed that he should come to tea again, on the next Monday evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiries in the meantime, as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle’s objection.