“Andrew can read the lingo,” said my master.

“The devil he can!” exclaimed Mr. Crobble; “I dare say I shall be able to make it out,” said I; “and if not, Monsieur Dubois will be here; to-morrow morning, and you can have it by twelve o’clock, sir.”

“Ain’t that the ticket?” exclaimed Mr. Timmis, delighted at the surprise of his friend; “you don’t know how vastly clever we are, old fellow.”

Mr. Crobble, much gratified at this information, placed the letter in my hands; and, leaving me to take a lunch at Garraway’s with Mr. Timmis, I eagerly sat about my task—­and luckily it was not only plainly written, but the subject-matter by no means difficult, being rather complimentary than technical.  By the time they returned, I had not only translated, but made a fair copy of it, in my best hand.

“Come, that is clever,” said Mr. Crobble; “let me see, now, what shall I give you?”

“Nothing, Sir,” I promptly replied; “I am Mr. Timmis’s clerk—­and all that I know I owe to his kindness.”

I saw, with pleasure, that this compliment was not lost upon my master.

Mr. Crobble was really a gentleman in feeling, and therefore did not persist in offering me any remuneration; but as he left the office, he said, “I thank you, Mr. Andrew—­I shall not forget your services;” and departed evidently much pleased with my performance.

CHAPTER XIV.—­A Dilemma.

“Ee cawnt gow back, ’cause they locks the gates,”

“Well, can we go forward, then?”—­“Noa, ee cawnt, ’cause the roads are under water;”

“Ee cawnt gow back, ’cause they locks the gates,” said a bumpkin on the road-side to a Cockney-party in a one-horse chaise.

“Well, can we go forward, then?” demanded the anxious and wearied traveller.

“Noa, ee cawnt, ’cause the roads are under water;” replied the joskin, with a grin.

This was certainly a situation more ridiculous than interesting; and I smiled when I heard the story told, little suspecting that Fortune would one day throw me into a similar dilemina—­so blindly do we mortals hug ourselves in the supposed security of our tact and foresight.

“How d’ye do, Mr. Andrew,” said Mr. Crobble, when he had seated himself, and sufficiently inflated his lungs, after the fatiguing operation of mounting the stairs.

“Where’s Timmis?—­tell him I want a word with him.”

I quickly summoned my patron, and followed him into the office.

“Well, old puff and blow!” exclaimed Mr. Timmis, with his usual familiarity.

“What’s in the wind?  Want to sell out?  The fives are fallen three per cent. since Friday.  All the ’Change is as busy as the devil in a high wind.”

“No—­no more dabbling, Timmis,” replied Mr. Crobble; “I lost a cool hundred last account; I want a word in private with you”—­and he glanced towards me; upon which I seized my hat, and took up my position at my old post on the landing.  How were my feelings altered since I first loitered there, listening to the marvels of poor Matthew!