"Didn't he say anything at all? Didn't he mention Hanson?" we asked
Ferguson.

"Eh? What, old Purdy? I don't think so. I don't remember. Now you
mention it, I think I did hear somewhere that Hanson was with Purdy. But
I don't believe he said anything about him. I was just going to ask him
to come and have a drink, when he said good-bye. All I know is I saw him
standing there like a sorrowful saint. Then he walked off slowly down
the corridor. He's a sociable beggar. I couldn't help laughing at him."


5

There was a notice in the window of the _Negro Boy_, and I discovered
that the tavern was under Entirely New Management. The picture sign over
the principal door had been renewed. The mythical little figure which
had given the public-house its name was no longer lost in the soot of
half a century. He was now an obvious negro boy, resplendent in a golden
coat. The reticence of the green window-curtains had become a bright
vacancy of mirrors, and the tavern was modern within. Reform had
destroyed the exclusiveness of the saloon bar; instead of privacy,
distant mirrors astonished you with glimpses of your own head which were
incredible and embarrassing in their novelty. The table-tops were of
white marble supported on gilded iron. The prints and lithographs of
ships had gone from the walls, and were replaced by real pictures
converted to the advertisement of various whiskies--pictures of
battleships, bull-dogs, Scotsmen, and figures in armour tempted from
their ancient posts in baronial halls, after midnight, to finish the
precious drink forgotten by the guests. In accordance with this
transformation the young lady in attendance at the bar was in neat black