about him rendered such an assumption
impossible. Putting aside the time and the place, and forgetting his
behaviour, his companions, and his instrument, what remained was
sufficient to make the suggestion absurd. Joseph was always clean
shaven; this youth had a smudgy moustache and a pair of incipient red
whiskers. He was dressed in the loudest check suit I have ever seen, off
the stage. He wore patent-leather boots with mother-of-pearl buttons,
and a necktie that in an earlier age would have called down lightning out
of Heaven. He had a low-crowned billycock hat on his head, and a big
evil-smelling cigar between his lips.

"Argue as I would, however, the face was the face of Joseph; and, moved
by a curiosity I could not control, I kept near him, watching him.

"Once, for a little while, I missed him; but there was not much fear of
losing that suit for long, and after a little looking about I struck it
again. He was sitting at the end of the pier, where it was less crowded,
with his arm round a girl's waist. I crept close. She was a jolly, red-
faced girl, good-looking enough, but common to the last degree. Her hat
lay on the seat beside her, and her head was resting on his shoulder. She
appeared to be fond of him, but he was evidently bored.

"'Don'tcher like me, Joe?' I heard her murmur.

"'Yas,' he replied, somewhat unconvincingly, 'o' course I likes yer.'

"She gave him an affectionate slap, but he did not respond, and a few
minutes afterwards, muttering some excuse, he rose and left her, and I
followed him as he made his way towards the refreshment-room. At the
door he met one of his pals.

"'Hullo!' was the question, 'wot 'a yer done wi' 'Liza?'

"'Oh, I carn't stand 'er,' was his reply; 'she gives me the bloomin'
'ump. You 'ave a turn with 'er.'

"His friend disappeared in the direction of 'Liza, and Joe pushed into
the room, I keeping close behind him. Now that he was alone I was
determined to speak to him. The longer I had studied his features the
more resemblance I had found in them to those of my superior friend
Joseph.

"He was leaning across the bar, clamouring for two of gin, when I tapped
him on the shoulder. He turned his head, and the moment he saw me, his
face went livid.

"'Mr. Joseph Smythe, I believe,' I said with a smile.

"'Who's Mr. Joseph Smythe?' he answered hoarsely; 'my name's Smith, I
ain't no bloomin' Smythe. Who are you? I don't know yer.'

"As he spoke, my