contents, he spread the sheet of paper carefully out, re-wiped his
spectacles, and again commenced the former all-engrossing subject.

"Tom, my boy, you are all right, and this will do for you. Here's a letter
from your uncle Ticket."

I nodded in silence.

"Yes, sir," continued my father, with increasing emphasis and peculiar
dignity, "Ticket--the great Ticket--the greatest"--

"Pawnbroker in London," said I, finishing the sentence.

"Yes, sir, he is; and what of that?"

"Nothing further; I don't much like the trade, but"--

"But he's your uncle, sir. It's a glorious money-making business. He
offers to take you as an apprentice. Nancy, my love, pack up this lad's
things, and start him off by the mail to-morrow. Go to bed, Tom."

So the die was cast! The mail was punctual; and I was duly delivered to
Ticket--the great Ticket--my maternal, and everybody else's undefinable,
uncle. Duly equipped in glazed calico sleeves, and ditto apron, I took my
place behind the counter. But as it was discovered that I had a peculiar
_penchant_ for giving ten shillings in exchange for gilt sixpences, and
encouraging all sorts of smashing by receiving counterfeit crowns,
half-crowns, and shillings, I received a box on the ear, and a positive
command to confine myself to the up-stairs, or "top-of-the-spout
department" for the future. Here my chief duties were to deposit such