surrounded with devices of the rarest mould—
the subjects, in this case, being suggestive of
stirring incidents of the chase, or war. The
rich cover was crested with the design of a
matador (in solid gold) giving the finishing
touch to a white Andalusian bull in a frenzy of
silver. It must have been worth, at the very
lowest estimate, a thousand guineas.

Mr. Smith was as reticent and as
embarrassed as ever, and his friends had to fall back
entirely on conjecture.

What in the world did it mean? Could the
donor have been some grateful patient of the
deceased apothecary? But no; for why conceal
what would be so honourable to all the parties
concerned? Could it be that a sudden
monomaniacal passion for objects of this description
had possessed John Smith even to the absorption
of full two years' income in a single purchase?
Hardly that, for he was sane and shrewd enough
in other things. And, besides, how would the
timid, nervous little gentleman have been able
to summon the courage and decision required
to complete such a bargain? The curiosity on
the subject grew almost into pain.

"Come now, you know; tell us, old fellow,
where these gold and silver mines of yours are
situated?" inquired the somewhat rough-
mannered Mr. Gripper, adopting that frank tone
which, indeed, was fairly his own, but was
intended, on this occasion, to invite a corresponding
frankness.

"I—I don't know what you mean," replied
Mr. Smith, the wan smile flickering in and out
of his irresolute face, like a damp wick that will
not ignite kindly.

"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend,"
resumed Mr. Gripper, setting his teeth in the
truculent manner which always warned his
interlocutors that he was going to say something
very unpleasant indeed, "I see it all"

Mr. Smith looked disturbed, but it was not
the agitation of one whose secret is on the point
of being discovered. On the contrary, it was
with something that seemed like curiosity, that
he ejaculated, with unusual emphasis:

"Then wh—what the devil is it?"

"There's a woman, and a woman with money,
you lucky dog, in the case."

"In what case? Where?" gasped Mr.
Smith, in sudden terror.

"In love with you, that's all I"

Mr. Smith turned deadly pale. His hair, had
its constitution permitted, would have assumed
an erect position.

"Heaven forbid! In love with me? What
ever have I done? Come, Gripper, you're
always ready with your chaff, ain't you, now?"
said poor little Smith, almost piteously. " Say
you're a-quizzing, now."

"Truth, John, is kindest," replied the
inflexible Gripper. "It is my painful duty to
arouse you to the fact that you have, wittingly
or otherwise (I am not your judge), ensnared
the affection of some confiding woman, with a
good balance at her banker's, whose homage, in
the form of gifts, you, with a baseness of which
I should have believed you incapable, do not
scruple to accept, intending, all the while, to—
to—in fact," concluded Mr. Gripper, shortly,
"to throw her over."

"Over what? Who? Which? What are
you talking about?" stammered poor Smith.
"I wish, Gripper, you wouldn't be such a
fool!"

"Fool, sir!"

"And don't talk so loud, please," continued
the other, looking nervously round. " You
don't know who might hear, and perhaps believe
your chaff; for it is chaff, now, ain't it? Come,
be neighbours, now, and don't let's have no
more of this."

"That will wholly depend upon the course I
see you adopt," said Mr. Gripper, guardedly.
(He was a good-natured man, and loved a joke,
but his serious manner, and a gloomy look he
had the gift of assuming at pleasure, frequently
imposed upon his friends.) "Now, sir, unless
you think fit to communicate the whole of this
nefarious plot to me, I—I will not answer for
what, as a matter of honour and humanity, I
may not feel bound to do."

"Plot? Whose plot? Why do you talk to
me as if I was a Guy Fawkes?" pleaded poor
Smith, in a tone of such distress that Mr.
Gripper all but abandoned his joke.

"From whence come these magnificent
presents? And why, sir, do you colour and
hesitate when questioned on the matter?"
retorted Gripper, sternly. "No one suspects you
of having stolen them. As little could you afford
to become their purchaser; and where the deuce
you came by the judgment to select them, if
your funds permitted, is the greatest mystery of
all. There is but one solution; that, sir, which
I have suggested. As man to man, I demand
—yes, demand an explanation."

Mr. Gripper folded his arms, and called up a
frown of extraordinary gloom.

Perhaps he overdid it a little. Perhaps a dim
consciousness that Mr. Gripper had no more
business with the matter than the Tycoon of
Japan, awoke, in the gentle bosom of poor little
Smith, the slumbering man. At all events,
with an energy he was never known to display
before or since, he confronted his scowling
friend, and, making the most of the niggard
stature meted out to him, boldly replied:

"Then, sir, I refuse; and the sooner you can
make it convenient to quit my house, the better."

"Quit your house?" echoed Mr. Gripper,
dismissing his frown and joke together. "Not
till I have shaken hands with one of the heartiest
and pluckiest fellows in the whole range of my
acquaintance. By Jove, Smith, what a spitfire
you are becoming."

"Think so?" said Mr. Smith, rubbing his
hands, and at once returning to good humour.
"No, no."

"Couldn't you see that I was only chaffing
you?" asked his friend; and, shortly after, took
his leave, much disgusted at not having been
able to discover the secret.

Greater surprises were in store. Mr. Slade,