have told you before this that my name is Williams."

"I suppose, Mr. Williams,' the King's Head is a tavern? If so, I prefer
a coffee-house; but thank you, notwithstanding, for your offer."

"By George! that's a rum start. Our chaps all hate coffee-shops, with
the exception of young Hardy, and he's coming round to our tastes now.
You can get a good feed at the King's Head--stunning tackle in the shape
of beer, and meet a decent set of fellows who know how to crack a joke
at table; whereas, if you go to a coffee-shop, you have an ugly slice of
meat set before you, a jorum of tea leaves and water, or some other
mess, and a disagreeable set of people around. Now, which is best?"

"Your description is certainly unfavourable in the latter case; but I do
not suppose all coffeehouses are alike, and therefore I shall try one
to-day. Good morning."

George soon found a nice-looking quiet place where he could dine, and
felt sure he had no need to go to taverns for better accommodation.

When he returned to the office, at two o'clock, Mr. Sanders was absent,
and the clerks were busily engaged, not at work, but in conversation.
Mr. Williams was the principal speaker, and seemed to have something
very choice to communicate. George made no doubt that he was the subject
of conversation, for he had caught one or two words as he entered, which
warranted the supposition. He had nothing to do until Mr. Sanders
returned; this was an opportunity, therefore, for Mr. Williams to make
himself officious.

"Mr. Weston," he said, "allow me to do the honours of the office by