“It’s no trouble to guess this noble creature’s figures height, three feet; length, four feet and three-quarters of an inch; weight, a hundred and forty-eight and a quarter.”

The man snatched his hat from its peg and danced on it with joy, shouting: 

“Ye’ve hardly missed it the hair’s breadth, hardly the shade of a shade, your honor!  Oh, it’s the miraculous eye ye’ve got, for the judgmint of a dog!”

And still pouring out his admiration of my capacities, he snatched off his vest and scoured off one of the wooden chairs with it, and scrubbed it and polished it, and said: 

“There, sit down, your honor, I’m ashamed of meself that I forgot ye were standing all this time; and do put on your hat, ye mustn’t take cold, it’s a drafty place; and here is your cigar, sir, a getting cold, I’ll give ye a light.  There.  The place is all yours, sir, and if ye’ll just put your feet on the table and make yourself at home, I’ll stir around and get a candle and light ye up the ould crazy stairs and see that ye don’t come to anny harm, for be this time Mr. Daly’ll be that impatient to see your honor that he’ll be taking the roof off.”

He conducted me cautiously and tenderly up the stairs, lighting the way and protecting me with friendly warnings, then pushed the door open and bowed me in and went his way, mumbling hearty things about my wonderful eye for points of a dog.  Mr. Daly was writing and had his back to me.  He glanced over his shoulder presently, then jumped up and said—­

“Oh, dear me, I forgot all about giving instructions.  I was just writing you to beg a thousand pardons.  But how is it you are here?  How did you get by that Irishman?  You are the first man that’s done it in five and twenty years.  You didn’t bribe him, I know that; there’s not money enough in New York to do it.  And you didn’t persuade him; he is all ice and iron:  there isn’t a soft place nor a warm one in him anywhere.  That is your secret?  Look here; you owe me a hundred dollars for unintentionally giving you a chance to perform a miracle—­for it is a miracle that you’ve done.”

“That is all right,” I said, “collect it of Jimmy Lewis.”

That good dog not only did me that good turn in the time of my need, but he won for me the envious reputation among all the theatrical people from the Atlantic to the Pacific of being the only man in history who had ever run the blockade of Augustin Daly’s back door.

CHAPTER XLVI.

If the desire to kill and the opportunity to kill came always together, who would escape hanging. 
                                  —­Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.