for the day.

"Here's a gent wants you in the shop," says Mr. Mossrose, leaving
the door of communication wide open.

"Say I'm in bed, Mr. Mossrose; I'm out of sperrets, and really can
see nobody."

"It's someone from Vindsor, I think; he's got the royal button,"
says Mossrose.

"It's me--Woolsey," shouted the little man from the shop.

Mr. Eglantine at this jumped up, made a rush to the door leading to
his private apartment, and disappeared in a twinkling. But it must
not be imagined that he fled in order to avoid Mr. Woolsey. He only
went away for one minute just to put on his belt, for he was ashamed
to be seen without it by his rival.

This being assumed, and his toilet somewhat arranged, Mr. Woolsey
was admitted into his private room. And Mossrose would have heard
every word of the conversation between those two gentlemen, had not
Woolsey, opening the door, suddenly pounced on the assistant, taken
him by the collar, and told him to disappear altogether into the
shop: which Mossrose did; vowing he would have his revenge.

The subject on which Woolsey had come to treat was an important one.
"Mr. Eglantine," says he, "there's no use disguising from one
another that we are both of us in love with Miss Morgiana, and that
our chances up to this time have been pretty equal. But that