Unmindful of his waning soup, he wrote and
sent off six notes before he touched his dinner.
Three were City; three West-End. The City
letters were to Cornhill, Ludgate-hill, and
Farringdon-street. The West-End letters were
to Great Marlborough-street, New Burlington-
street, and Piccadilly. Everybody was
systematically denied at every one of the six
places, and there was not a vestige of any
answer. Our light porter whispered to me
when he came back with that report, "All
Booksellers."

But before then, he had cleared off his dinner,
and his bottle of wine. He now—mark the
concurrence with the document formerly given
in full!—knocked a plate of biscuits off the
table with his agitated elber (but without
breakage), and demanded boiling brandy-and-
water.

Now fully convinced that it was Himself, I
perspired with the utmost freedom. When he
become flushed with the heated stimulant referred
to, he again demanded pen and paper, and passed
the succeeding two hours in producing a
manuscript, which he put in the fire when completed.
He then went up to bed, attended by Mrs.
Pratchett. Mrs. Pratchett (who was aware of my
emotions) told me on coming down that she had
noticed his eye rolling into every corner of the
passages and staircase, as if in search of his
Luggage, and that, looking back as she shut the
door of 24 B, she perceived him with his coat
already thrown off immersing himself bodily
under the bedstead, like a chimley-sweep before
the application of machinery.

The next day—I forbear the horrors of that
night—was a very foggy day in our part of
London, insomuch that it was necessary to light
the Coffee Room gas. We was still alone, and
no feverish words of mine can do justice to the
fitfulness of his appearance as he sat at No. 4
table, increased by there being something wrong
with the meter.

Having again ordered his dinner he went out,
and was out for the best part of two hours.
Inquiring on his return whether any of the
answers had arrived, and receiving an unqualified
negative, his instant call was for mulligatawny,
the cayenne pepper, and orange brandy.

Feeling that the mortal struggle was now at
hand, I also felt that I must be equal to him,
and with that view resolved that whatever he
took, I would take. Behind my partition, but
keeping my eye on him over the curtain, I
therefore operated on Mulligatawny, Cayenne
Pepper, and Orange Brandy. And at a later
period of the day, when he again said "Orange
Brandy," I said so too, in a lower tone, to
George, my Second Lieutenant (my First was
absent on leave), who acts between me and the
bar.

Throughout that awful day, he walked about
the Coffee Room continually. Often he came
close up to my partition, and then his eye rolled
within, too evidently in search of any signs of his
Luggage. Half-past six came, and I laid his cloth.
He ordered a bottle of old Brown. I likewise
ordered a bottle of old Brown. He drank his.
I drank mine (as nearly as my duties would
permit) glass for glass against his. He topped with
coffee and a small glass. I topped with coffee
and a small glass. He dozed. I dozed. At
last, "Waiter!"—and he ordered his bill. The
moment was now at hand when we two must be
locked in the deadly grapple.

Swift as the arrow from the bow, I had formed
my resolution; in other words, I had hammered
it out between nine and nine. It was, that I
would be the first to open up the subject with a
full acknowledgment, and would offer any
gradual settlement within my power. He paid
his bill (doing what was right by attendance)
with his eye rolling about him to the last, for
any tokens of his Luggage. One only time our
gaze then met, with the lustrous fixedness (I
believe I am correct in imputing that character
to it?) of the well-known Basilisk. The decisive
moment had arrived.

With a tolerable steady hand, though with
humility, I laid The Proofs before him.

"Gracious Heavens!" he cries out, leaping
up and catching hold of his hair. "What's
this! Print!"

"Sir," I replied, in a calming voice, and
bending forward, "I humbly acknowledge to
being the unfortunate cause of it. But I hope,
sir, that when you have heard the circumstances
explained, and the innocence of my
intentions——"

To my amazement, I was stopped short by
his catching me in both his arms, and pressing
me to his breast- bone; where I must confess to
my face (and particular nose) having undergone
some temporary vexation from his wearing his
coat buttoned high up, and his buttons being
uncommon hard.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he cries, releasing me with a
wild laugh, and grasping my hand. "What is
your name, my Benefactor?"

"My name, sir" (I was crumpled, and puzzled
to make him out), "is Christopher; and I hope,
sir, that as such when you've heard my ex——"

"In print!" he exclaims again, dashing the
proofs over and over as if he was bathing in
them. "In print!! Oh, Christopher!
Philanthropist! Nothing can recompense you but
what sum of money would be acceptable to
you?"

I had drawn a step back from him, or I should
have suffered from his buttons again.

"Sir, I assure you I have been already well
paid, and——"

"No, no, Christopher! Don't talk like that!
What sum of money would be acceptable to you,
Christopher? Would you find twenty pounds
acceptable, Christopher?"

However great my surprise, I naturally
found words to say, "Sir, I am not aware that
the man was ever yet born without more than
the average amount of water on the brain, as
would not find twenty pound acceptable.
But——extremely obliged to you, sir, I'm
sure;" for he had tumbled it out of his purse
and crammed it in my hand in two bank-notes;