as I finished; "one sees that plainly
You're a fellow that should be earning his bread
somehow, and the question is— Is this the kind
of life you ought to be leading? What humbug
it is to talk about knowing the world, and such-
like. The thing is, to know a trade, to understand
some art, to be able to produce something,
to manufacture something, to convert something
to a useful purpose. When you've done, that the
knowledge of men will come later on, never be
afraid of that. It's a school that we never miss
one single day of our lives. But here we are;
this is the Pig. Now, what will you have for
breakfast? Ask the vagabonds, too, and tell
them there's a wide choice here; they have
everything you can mention in this little inn."

An excellent breakfast was soon spread out
before us, and though my humble companions did
it the most ample justice, I sat there, thoughtful
and almost sad. The words of that stranger rang
in my ears like a reproach and a warning. I knew
how truly he had said that I was not a man of
fortune, and it grieved me sorely to think how
easily he saw it. In my heart of hearts I knew
it was the delusion I loved best. To appear to the
world at large, an eccentric man of good means,
free to do what he liked and go where he
would, was the highest enjoyment I had ever
prepared for myself: and yet here was a coarse,
common-place sort of man at least his manners
were unpolished and his tone underbred and he
saw through it all at once.

I took the first opportunity to slip away
unobserved from the company, and retired to the little
garden of the inn, to commune with myself and
be alone. But ere I had been many minutes there,
Harpar joined me. He came up smoking his
cigar, with the lounging, lazy air of a man at
perfect leisure, and, consequently, quite free to be as
disagreeable as he pleased.

"You went off without eating your breakfast,"
said he, bluntly. "I saw how it was. You
didn't like my freedom with you. You fancied that
I ought to have taken all that nonsense of yours
about your rank and your way of life for gospel;
or, at least, that I ought to have pretended to do
so. That ain't my way. I hate humbug."

It was not very easy to reply good humouredly
to such a speech as this. Indeed, I saw no
particular reason to treat this man's freedom with
any indulgence, and drawing myself haughtily
up, I prepared a very dry but caustic rejoinder.

"When I have learned two points," said I, " on
which you can inform me, I may be better able
to answer what you have said. The first is: By
what possible right do you take to task a person
that you never met in your life till now? and
secondly, What benefit on earth could it be to
me to impose upon a man from whom I neither
want nor expect anything?"

"Easily met, both," said he, quickly. " I'm a
practical sort of fellow, who never wastes time
on useless materials; that's for your first
proposition. Number two: you're a dreamer, and
you hate being awakened."

"Well, sir," said I, stiffly, "to a gentleman so
remarkable for perspicuity, and who reads
character at sight, ordinary intercourse must be
wearisome. Will you excuse me if I take my
leave of you here?"

"Of course, make no ceremony about it; go
or stay, just as you like. I never cross any man's
humour."

I muttered something that sounded like a
dissent to that doctrine, and he quickly added, "I
mean, further than speaking my mind, that's all;
nothing more. If you had been a man of fair
means, and for a frolic thought it might be good
fun to consort for a few days with rapscallions of
a travelling circus, all one could say was, it
wasn't very good taste; but being evidently a
fellow of another stamp, a young man who ought
to be in his father's shop or his uncle's counting-
house, following some honest craft or calling— for
you, I say, it was downright ruin."

"Indeed!" said I, with an accent of intense
scorn.

"Yes," continued he, seriously, "downright
ruin. There's a poison in the lazy, good-for-
nothing life of these devils, that never leaves a
man's blood. I've a notion that it wouldn't hurt
a man's nature so much were he to consort with
housebreakers; there's at least something real
about these fellows."

"You talk, doubtless, with knowledge, sir,"
said I, glad to say something that might offend
him.

"I do," said he, seriously, and not taking the
smallest account of the impertinent allusion.
"I know that if a man hasn't a fixed calling, but
is always turning his hand to this, that, and
t'other, he will very soon cease to have any
character whatsoever; he'll just become as shifty
in his nature as in his business. I've seen scores
of fellows wrecked on that rock, and I hadn't
looked at you twice till I saw you were one of
them."

"I must say, sir," said I, summoning to my
aid what I felt to be a most cutting sarcasm of
manner— "I must say, sir, that, considering how
short has been the acquaintance which has
subsisted between us, it would be extremely difficult
for me to show how gratefully I feel the interest
you have taken in me."

"Well, I'm not so sure of that," said he,
thoughtfully.

"May I ask, then, how?"

"Are you sure, first of all, that you wish to
show this gratitude you speak of?"

"Oh, sir, can you possibly doubt it?"

"I don't want to doubt it, I want to profit by
it."

I made a bland bow that might mean anything,
but did not speak.

"Here's the way of it," said he, boldly.
"Bigges has run off with all my loose cash, and
though there's money waiting for me at certain
places, I shall find it very difficult to reach them.
Ihave come down here on foot from Wildbad,
and I can make my way, in the same fashion, to