“I beg you won’t mention it,” said I, putting on my hat; “but, sir, why do you wink at me?”

“No, no,” cried he, laughing and shaking his head, “ha! ha! —­deyvilish good!  By the way, they tell me George himself is in these parts—­incog. of course—­”

“George?” said I, staring.

“Cursed rich, on my life and soul!” cried the tall gentleman, shaking his head and laughing again.  “Mum’s the word, of course, and I swear a shaven face becomes you most deyvilishly!”

“Perhaps you will be so obliging as to tell me what you mean?” said I, frowning.

“Oh, by gad!” he cried, fairly hugging himself with delight.  “Oh, the devil! this is too rich—­too infernally rich, on my life and soul it is!”

Now all at once there recurred to me the memory of Tom Cragg, the Pugilist; of how he too had winked at me, and of his incomprehensible manner afterwards beneath the gibbet on River Hill.

“Sir,” said I, “do you happen to know a pugilist, Tom Cragg by name?”

“Tom Cragg! well, I should think so; who doesn’t, sir?”

“Because,” I went on, “he too seems to labor under the delusion that he is acquainted with me, and—­”

“Acquainted!” repeated the tall gentleman, “acquainted!  Oh, gad!” and immediately hugged himself in another ecstasy.

“If,” said I, “you will have the goodness to tell me for whom you evidently mistake me—­”

“Mistake you!” he gasped, throwing himself upon the settle and rocking to and fro, “ha! ha!—­mistake you!”

Seeing I did but waste my breath, I turned upon my heel, and made for the door.  As I went, my eye, by chance, lighted upon a cheese that stood at the fat landlord’s elbow, and upon which he cast amorous glances from time to time.

“That seems a fine cheese!” said I.

“It is, sir, if I might make so bold, a noble cheese!” he rejoined, and laid his hand upon it with a touch that was a caress.

“Then I will take three pennyworth of your noble cheese,” said I.

“Cheese!” faintly echoed the gentleman upon the settle, “three pennyworth.  Oh, I shall die, positively I shall burst!”

“Also a loaf,” said I. And when the landlord had cut the cheese with great nicety—­a generous portion—­and had wrapped it into a parcel, I put it, together with the loaf, into my knapsack, and giving him “Good day!” strode to the door.  As I reached it, the tall gentleman rose from the settle, and bowed.

“Referring to George, sir—­”

“George!” said I shortly; “to the devil with George!”

Now I could not help being struck by the effect of my words, for Sir Harry let fall his cane, and stared open-mouthed, while his companion regarded me with an expression between a frown and wide-eyed dismay.

“Now I wonder,” said I to myself as I descended the steps, “I wonder who George can be?”

Before the inn there stood a yellow-wheeled stanhope with a horse which, from his manner of trembling all over for no conceivable reason, and manifest desire to stand upon his hind legs, I conceived to be a thorough-bred; and, hanging grimly to the bridle, now in the air, now on terra firma, alternately coaxing and cursing, was my friend the Semi-quavering Ostler.  He caught sight of me just as a particularly vicious jerk swung him off his legs.