Pitman put his lips to it, set it down again, and sighed.

'Well, I must say you're the poorest companion for a holiday!' cried
Michael. 'If that's all you know of brandy, you shall have no more of
it; and while I finish the flask, you may as well begin business. Come
to think of it,' he broke off, 'I have made an abominable error: you
should have ordered the cart before you were disguised. Why, Pitman,
what the devil's the use of you? why couldn't you have reminded me of
that?'

'I never even knew there was a cart to be ordered,' said the artist.
'But I can take off the disguise again,' he suggested eagerly.

'You would find it rather a bother to put on your beard,' observed the
lawyer. 'No, it's a false step; the sort of thing that hangs people,' he
continued, with eminent cheerfulness, as he sipped his brandy; 'and
it can't be retraced now. Off to the mews with you, make all the
arrangements; they're to take the piano from here, cart it to Victoria,
and dispatch it thence by rail to Cannon Street, to lie till called for
in the name of Fortune du Boisgobey.'

'Isn't that rather an awkward name?' pleaded Pitman.

'Awkward?' cried Michael scornfully. 'It would hang us both! Brown is
both safer and easier to pronounce. Call it Brown.'

'I wish,' said Pitman, 'for my sake, I wish you wouldn't talk so much of
hanging.'

'Talking about it's nothing, my boy!' returned Michael. 'But take your