the consequence?" continued the narrator,
"Somehow or another, that p'leseman was
never more heered on. One fine night he
went on his beat; he didn't show at the
next muster; and it was s'posed he'd bolted.
Every enquiry was made, and the
'mysterious disappearance of a pieseman,' got into
the noospapers. Howsomnever, he never got
anywheres."

"And what became of him?"

Mr. Joe then proceeded to take a long
puff at his pipe, and winking at his initiated
friend, proceeded to, narrate how that the
injured gang dealt in eggs.

"What has that to do with it?"

"Why you see eggs is not always eggs."
Mr. Pouter then went on to state that one
night a long deal chest left the premises of
the coiners, marked outside, 'eggs' for exportation.
They were duly shipped, a member of
the firm being on board, The passage was
rough, the box was on deck, and somehow
or other somebody tumbled it overboard."

"But what has this to do with the missing
policeman."

"The chest was six feet long and—."

Here Mr. Bethnal became uneasy.

"Vell," said the host, "the firm's broke
up, and is past peaching upon, only it shows
you my green 'un what we can do.'

I was shaken in my master's pocket by
the violence of the dread which Mr. Joe's
story had occasioned him.

Mr. Bethnal, with the philosophy which
was habitual to him, puffed away at his
pipe.

"The fact o' the matter is," said Mr.
Joe, who was growing garrulous on an
obviously pet subject, "that we ain't afeerd o'
the p'lese in this neighbourhood, not a
hap'orth; we know how to manage them."
He then related an anecdote of another policeman,
who had been formerly in his own line
of business. This gentleman being, as he
observed, "fly" to all the secret signs of the
craft, obtained an interview with a friend of
his for the purpose of purchasing a hundred
shillings. A packet was produced and
exchanged for their proper price in currency,
but on the policeman taking his prize to the
station house to lay the information, he
discovered that he had been outwitted. The
rouleau contained a hundred good farthings,
for each of which he had paid two pence
halfpenny.

"Then, what is the bad money generally
worth?" asked Edward, interrupting the
speaker. "As a general rule," was the answer,
"our sort is worth about one-fifth part o' the
wallie it represents. So, a sovereign—(though
we ain't got much to do with gold here—
that's made for the most part in
Brummagem)—a 'Brum' Sovereign—may be
bought for about four-and-six; a bad
crown piece for a good bob; a half-crown
for about fippence; a bob for twopence half-
penny, and so on. As for the sixpenny's and
fourpenny's, we don't make many on 'em,
their wallie bein' too insignificant." Mr. Joe
then proceeded with some further remarks
for the benefit of his protégé;—

"You see you need have no fear o' passing
this here money if you 're a respectable looking
cove. If a gentleman is discovered at
anythink o' the kind, its always laid to a
mistake; the shopman knocks under, and the
gentleman gives a good piece o' money with
a grin. And that's how it is that so much o'
our mannyfactur gets smashed all over the
country."

The visitors having been somewhat bored,
apparently, during the latter portion of
their host's remarks, soon after took their
departure. The rum-and-water which Mr.
Joe's liberality had supplied, effectually
removed Edward's scruples; and on his way
back, he expressed himself in high terms in
favour of "smashing," considered as a
profession.

"O' course," was the reply of his
experienced companion. "It ain't once in a
thousand times that a fellow's nailed. You shall
make your first trial to-night. You've the
needful in your pocket, hav'n't you?  Come,
here's a shop—I want a cigar."

Edward appeared to hesitate; but Mr.
Joe's rum-and-water asserted itself, and into
the shop they both marched.

Mr. Bethnal, with an air of most imposing
nonchalance took up a cigar from one of the
covered cases on the counter, put it in his
mouth, and helped himself to a light. Edward,
not so composedly, followed his example.

"How much?"

"Sixpence."

The next instant the youth had drawn me
from his pocket, received sixpence in change,
and walked out of the shop, leaving me under
the guardianship of a new master.

I did not remain long with the tobacconist:
he passed me next day to a gentleman, who
was as innocent as himself as to my real
character. It happened that I slipped into the
corner of this gentleman's pocket, and
remained there for several weeks  — he,
apparently, unaware of my existence. At length
he discovered me, and one day I found myself,
in company with a good half-crown, exchanged
for a pair of gloves at a respectable looking
shop. After the purchaser had left, the
assistant looked at me suspiciously, and was
going to call back my late owner, but it was
too late. Taking me then to his master, he
asked if I was not bad. "It don't look very
good," was the answer. "Give it to me, and
take care to be more careful for the future."

I was slipped into the waistcoat pocket of
the proprietor, who immediately seemed to
forget all about the occurrence.

That same night, immediately on the shop
being closed, the shopkeeper walked out,
having changed his elegant costume for
garments of a coarser and less conspicuous
description, and hailing a cab, requested to be