brought forward the three hundred and seventy-two fat capons, and
went on with his account.

'Do you remember,' said the other, stepping forward, - 'DO you
remember little Joe Toddyhigh?'

The port wine fled for a moment from the fruiterer's nose as he
muttered, 'Joe Toddyhigh! What about Joe Toddyhigh?'

'I am Joe Toddyhigh,' cried the visitor. 'Look at me, look hard at
me, - harder, harder. You know me now? You know little Joe again?
What a happiness to us both, to meet the very night before your
grandeur! O! give me your hand, Jack, - both hands, - both, for
the sake of old times.'

'You pinch me, sir. You're a-hurting of me,' said the Lord Mayor
elect pettishly. 'Don't, - suppose anybody should come, - Mr.
Toddyhigh, sir.'

'Mr. Toddyhigh!' repeated the other ruefully.

'O, don't bother,' said the Lord Mayor elect, scratching his head.
'Dear me! Why, I thought you was dead. What a fellow you are!'

Indeed, it was a pretty state of things, and worthy the tone of
vexation and disappointment in which the Lord Mayor spoke. Joe
Toddyhigh had been a poor boy with him at Hull, and had oftentimes
divided his last penny and parted his last crust to relieve his
wants; for though Joe was a destitute child in those times, he was
as faithful and affectionate in his friendship as ever man of might