‘Drinking Port, Tom?’ said Mr. Andrew.  ’I ‘ll join you’:  and he sat down opposite to him, rubbing his hands and pushing back his hair.

Jonathan entering briskly with the bill, fell back a step, in alarm.  The old gentleman, whose inviolacy was thus rudely assailed, sat staring at the intruder, his mouth compressed, and three fingers round his glass, which it’ was doubtful whether he was not going to hurl at him.

‘Waiter!’ Mr. Andrew carelessly hailed, ’a pint of this Port, if you please.’

Jonathan sought the countenance of the old gentleman.

‘Do you hear, sir?’ cried the latter, turning his wrath on him.  ’Another pint!’ He added:  ‘Take back the bill’; and away went Jonathan to relate fresh marvels to his mistress.

Mr. Andrew then addressed the old gentleman in the most audacious manner.

’Astonished to see me here, Tom?  Dare say you are.  I knew you came somewhere in this neighbourhood, and, as I wanted to speak to you very particularly, and you wouldn’t be visible till Monday, why, I spied into two or three places, and here I am.’

You might see they were brothers.  They had the same bushy eyebrows, the same healthy colour in their cheeks, the same thick shoulders, and brisk way of speaking, and clear, sharp, though kindly, eyes; only Tom was cast in larger proportions than Andrew, and had gotten the grey furniture of Time for his natural wear.  Perhaps, too, a cross in early life had a little twisted him, and set his mouth in a rueful bunch, out of which occasionally came biting things.  Mr. Andrew carried his head up, and eyed every man living with the benevolence of a patriarch, dashed with the impudence of a London sparrow.  Tom had a nagging air, and a trifle of acridity on his broad features.  Still, any one at a glance could have sworn they were brothers, and Jonathan unhesitatingly proclaimed it at the Aurora bar.

Mr. Andrew’s hands were working together, and at them, and at his face, the old gentleman continued to look with a firmly interrogating air.

’Want to know what brings me, Tom?  I’ll tell you presently.  Hot,—­isn’t it?’

‘What the deuce are you taking exercise for?’ the old gentleman burst out, and having unlocked his mouth, he began to puff and alter his posture.

‘There you are, thawed in a minute!’ said Mr. Andrew.  ’What’s an eccentric? a child grown grey.  It isn’t mine; I read it somewhere.  Ah, here’s the Port! good, I’ll warrant.’

Jonathan deferentially uncorked, excessive composure on his visage.  He arranged the table-cloth to a nicety, fixed the bottle with exactness, and was only sent scudding by the old gentleman’s muttering of:  ‘Eavesdropping pie!’ followed by a short, ‘Go!’ and even then he must delay to sweep off a particular crumb.

‘Good it is!’ said Mr. Andrew, rolling the flavour on his lips, as he put down his glass.  ‘I follow you in Port, Tom.  Elder brother!’