'Only just got in,' returned Mr Villiers, sulkily, looking at his
programme. 'Any good?' in a more amiable tone.

'Well, not bad,' returned the other, pulling up his collar; 'I've
seen it in Melbourne, you know--the original, I mean; this is a very
second-hand affair.'

Mr Villiers nodded, and became absorbed in his programme; so, seeing
he was disinclined for more conversation, the young gentleman turned
his attention to the 'Wopples Waltz', which was now being played
fast and furiously by the indefatigable orchestra of two.

Bartholomew Jarper--generally called Barty by his friends--was a
bank clerk, and had come up to Ballarat on a visit. He was well
known in Melbourne society, and looked upon himself quite as a
leader of fashion. He went everywhere, danced divinely--so the
ladies said--sang two or three little songs, and played the same
accompaniment to each of them, was seen constantly at the theatres,
plunged a little at the races, and was altogether an extremely gay
dog. It is, then, little to be wondered at that, satiated as he was
with Melbourne gaiety, he should be vastly critical of the humble
efforts of the Wopples family to please him. He had met Villiers at
his hotel, when both of them being inebriated they swore eternal
friendship. Mr Villiers, however, was very sulky on this particular
night, for his head still pained him, so Barty stared round the
house in a supercilious manner, and sucked the nob of his cane for
refreshment between the acts.

Just as the orchestra were making their final plunge into the finale
of the 'Wopples' Waltz', M. Vandeloup, cool and calm as usual,