"Ay, so he is still. In his youth, George was a very handsome fellow,
but a little too fond of his lass and his bottle to please his father,--a
very staid old gentleman, who walked about on Sundays in a bob-wig and a
gold-headed cane, and was a much better farmer on week-days than he was
head of a public-house. George used to be a remarkably smart-dressed
fellow, and so he is to this day. He has a great deal of wit, is a very
good whist-player, has a capital cellar, and is so fond of seeing his
friends drunk, that he bought some time ago a large pewter measure in
which six men can stand upright. The girls, or rather the old women, to
which last he used to be much more civil of the two, always liked him;
they say nothing is so fine as his fine speeches, and they give him the
title of 'Gentleman George.' He is a nice, kind-hearted man in many
things. Pray Heaven we shall have no cause to miss him when he departs!
But, to tell you the truth, he takes more than his share of our common
purse."

"What! is he avaricious?"

"Quite the reverse; but he's so cursedly fond of building, he invests all
his money (and wants us to invest all ours) in houses; and there's one
confounded dog of a bricklayer who runs him up terrible bills,--a fellow
called 'Cunning Nat,' who is equally adroit in spoiling ground and
improving ground rent."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah! thereby hangs a tale. But we are near the place now; you will see
a curious set."

As Tomlinson said this, the pair approached a house standing alone, and