e conversation, 'My friend is an Australian; he is
very impulsive,' he added.

'An Australian?' said another. 'I've a brother myself in Melbourne. Does
your friend come from that way at all?'

'No, not exactly,' replied the artist, whose ideas of the geography of
New Holland were a little scattered. 'He lives immensely far inland, and
is very rich.'

The loafers gazed with great respect upon the slumbering colonist.

'Well,' remarked the second speaker, 'it's a mighty big place, is
Australia. Do you come from thereaway too?'

'No, I do not,' said Pitman. 'I do not, and I don't want to,' he added
irritably. And then, feeling some diversion needful, he fell upon
Michael and shook him up.

'Hullo,' said the lawyer, 'what's wrong?'

'The cart is nearly ready,' said Pitman sternly. 'I will not allow you
to sleep.'

'All right--no offence, old man,' replied Michael, yawning. 'A little
sleep never did anybody any harm; I feel comparatively sober now. But
what's all the hurry?' he added, looking round him glassily. 'I don't
see the cart, and I've forgotten where we left the piano.'

What more the lawyer might have said, in the confidence of the moment,
is with Pitman a matter of tremulous conjecture to this day; but by the
most blessed circumstance the cart was then announced, and Michael must
bend the forces of his mind to the more difficult task of rising.

'Of course you'll drive,' he remarked to his companion, as he clambered
on the vehicle.

'I drive!' cried Pitman. 'I never did such a thing in my life. I cannot
drive.'

'Very well,' responded Michael with entire composure, 'neither can I
see. But just as you like. Anything to oblige a friend.'

A glimpse of the ostler's darkening countenance decided Pitman. 'All
right,' he said desperately, 'you drive. I'll tell you where to go.'

On Michael in the character of charioteer (since this is not intended
to be a novel of adventure) it would be superfluous to dwell at length.
Pitman, as he sat holding on and gasping counsels, sole witness of this
singular feat, knew not whether most to admire the driver's valour or
his undeserved good fortune. But the latter at least prevailed, the
cart reached Cannon Street without disaster; and Mr Brown's piano was
speedily and cleverly got on board.

'Well, sir,' said the leading porter, smiling as he mentally reckoned up
a handful of loose silver, 'that's a mortal heavy piano.'

'It's the richness of the tone,' returned