air.

"Good tobacco happens to be expensive," was the reply. "Will you sit
down?"

"Yes, I will." The chair creaked under him. "And so here you hang
out, eh? Only one room?"

"As you see."

"Devilish unhealthy, I should think."

"But economical."

"Ugh!"

The grunt meant nothing in particular. Waymark was eyeing the mighty
volume on the chair, and had recognised it Some fortnight
previously, he had come upon Abraham, in the latter's study, turning
over a collection of Hogarth's plates, and greatly amusing himself
with the realism which so distinctly appealed to his taste in art.
The book had been pledged in the shop, and by lapse of time was
become Abraham's property. It was the first time that Waymark had
had an opportunity of examining Hogarth; the pictures harmonised
with his mood; they gave him a fresh impulse in the direction his
literary projects were taking. He spent a couple of hours in turning
the leaves, and Mr. Woodstock had observed his enjoyment. What meant
the arrival of the volume here in Beaufort Street?

Abraham lit a cigar, still looking about the room.