artist would take his measure; and this Verty did at once.

Imagine his surprise at finding himself in the presence of--Mr. Jinks!

Mr. Jinks, no longer clad in elegant and martial costume, redolent
equally of the ball-room and the battle-field--no longer moving
majestically onward with wide-stretched legs, against which his
warlike sword made dreadful music--no longer decorated with rosettes,
and ruffles, and embroidery; but seated on the counter, in an old
dressing-gown, with slipper'd feet and lacklustre eyes, driving his
rapid needle through the cloth with savage and intrepid spirit.

Verty did not recognize him immediately; and Mr. Jinks did not observe
the new comers either.

An exclamation from the young man, however, attracted his attention,
and he started up.

"Mr. O'Brallaghan!" cried the knight of the needle, if we may so far
plagiarize upon Roundjacket's paraphrase--"Mr. O'Brallaghan! this is
contrary to our contract, sir. It was understood, sir, that I should
be private, sir,--and I am invaded here by a route of people, sir, in
violation of that understanding, sir!"

The emphasis with which Mr. Jinks uttered the various "sirs," in this
address, was terrible. O'Brallaghan was evidently daunted by them.

"You know I am a great artist in the cutting line, sir," said Mr.
Jinks, with dignity; "and that nobody can do your fine work but me,
sir. You know I have the right to mature my conceptions in private,