was otherwise plain and insignificant. About
a week after I had met him for the third
time, I took a house at Plover for the season,
for my wife and family, to whom I used to
run down from London every week. I was
returning to the City by an evening train,
soon afterwards, for which the poor
voyageurs from France were, as usual, not in
time, in consequence of the delays at the
Custom House, when I heard my travelling
friend's voice outside the window, and
instantly looked forth to welcome him in.
Somehow or other, however, he had
disappeared at that very instant, and I seemed
doomed to ride the whole way to London in
company of a solitary stranger, who entered
at the opened door instead. He was big
enough for two, indeed, but singularly
uncommunicative, replying to the few civilities
which I ventured upon, in gruff monosyllables;
and, coiling himself up in a corner,
with his cap over his eyes, in the manner of
the true passenger ruffian. Still, I could not
help thinking that at some time and place,
both forgotten, I had seen this man and
spoken to him before; the remembrance of
him was like one of those mysterious experiences
which we all have of having previously
witnessed some passing scene, which our
mortal eyes can never in reality have beheld;
but indistinct as this was, it was strong
enough to drive all thoughts from my mind,
except the absorbing one. "To whom is he
like? and where have I met this sulky fellow
before?"

Presently, however, my mind reverted to
the voice I had heard at starting, and
immediately this idea combined with it, and I said
to myself:

"Why it is Mr. Settler himself, to whom
the man is somehow like after all!"

True, my old acquaintance was a spare man,
and this a person stout even to obesity. The
former had a voice especially pleasing, and
the latter a grunt that could scarcely be
reckoned human; that a convivial visage, and
this a face from which ill-health and ill-
humour together had expelled every trace of
jollity. Still, having acquired my idea with
so much trouble, I was not the man to let it
easily go again, but flattered and nourished
it in my mind, until it grew larger and
stronger, and at last shot up into the full
belief that this uncommunicative stranger was
not only like Mr. Settler, but was Mr. Settler
himself! No other than he, I now felt
persuaded, could have presented himself at the
carriage window, so immediately after my
hearing his voice close beside it.

"Sir," said I, composing myself in my
corner, as if to sleep, "I should like to know
how long I may hope to rest myself. Will
you kindly favour me with the time?"

I shot through my fingers an eager glance,
as the stout gentleman pulled his watch out,
with an expression of impatience at being
roused. My scheme had succeeded; my suspicions
were confirmed. It was the old Geneva
watch with the turquoise figures.

"Mr. Settler," said I, quietly, "why do you
wish to cut my acquaintance?"

"Why, the fact is," replied he, in his natural
frank voice, and not without a touch of
pathos in it, "I am so ill, and such an object,
that I am positively ashamed to be recognised;
do you observe how tremendously
stout I have grown?"

"Of course I do," said I; "it would be
ridiculous to pretend otherwise; why you are
three times your usual size at the very least!"

"There is no need to exaggerate, goodness
knows," rejoined he, gravely, "a man with
such a dropsy as this is no fit subject for
joking."

My old acquaintance indeed exhibited so
much acrimony and bad humour that I was
sorry I spoke to him at all, and felt quite
relieved when, wheezing and grumbling to the
last, he parted company from me at the
terminus. On the next Saturday I again went
down to Plover, and only reached the station
just in time to hit the train. I therefore
threw myself into the nearest first-class
carriage, and was off before I ever looked to see
who was my companion.

"How are you, my boy?" cried Mr. Settler,
for he it was, spare and hearty as ever. "I
am afraid I was rather cross with you the
other day."

"Cross!" said I, a little grimly, "is not
the word for it; you were a bear of the first
water; and, by-the-bye, what has become of
your dropsy?"

"Well," rejoined he, "I have been tapped
since I saw you."

"Tapped! " cried I, laughing, "why you
have been emptied—drained!"

"Yes," answered Mr. Settler evasively, "I
dare say it seems so. I am subject to these
attacks. They're hereditary. Have you seen
to-day's paper?"

So we turned the conversation to other
subjects, and spent the time between London
and Chokestone, as pleasantly as usual.

A month elapsed, and then I met my friend
once more in the up-express, going to town
for the best advice, he said, and stouter than
ever. However, he was very good-humoured
this time, observing that he was not going to
suffer the disease to prey upon his spirits any
longer; only from his late voyage and its
accompaniments he was really very exhausted
and presently fell asleep, looking, as I thought,
like Falstaff after a fit of sea-sickness.

As I sat close by him, whistling softly, and
staring at his right leg, a very singular sight
presented itself. I saw Mr. Settler's right
calf sink gradually down, and presently
repose about his ankle. I stooped down to
investigate this sliding phenomenon, and
discovered it to be entirely composed of the best
French kid gloves; the other calf I pricked
with my scarf-pin, and concluded it to be
composed of the same unfeeling material.