man or woman with the big brain. It is not the shaven
patch on the outside, but it is the sixty ounces within
which is the real mark of election.

You know that you are turning up your nose at me,
Bertie. I can see you do it. But I'll come off the thin
ice, and you shall have nothing but facts now. I'm
afraid that I should never do for a story-teller, for the
first stray character that comes along puts his arm in
mine and walks me off, with my poor story straggling away
to nothing behind me.

Well, then, it was night when we reached Avonmouth,
and as I popped my head out of the carriage window, the
first thing that my eyes rested upon was old
Cullingworth, standing in, the circle of light under a
gas-lamp. His frock coat was flying open, his waistcoat
unbuttoned at the top, and his hat (a top hat this time)
jammed on the back of his head, with his bristling hair
spurting out in front of it. In every way, save that he
wore a collar, he was the same Cullingworth as ever. He
gave a roar of recognition when he saw me, bustled me out
of my carriage, seized my carpet bag, or grip-sack as you
used to call it, and a minute later we were striding
along together through the streets.

I was, as you may imagine, all in a tingle to know
what it was that he wanted with me. However, as he made
no allusion to it, I did not care to ask, and, during our
longish walk, we talked about indifferent matters. It