ike; I've to pay two pounds to-morrow. What you give
me is all I shall have to do it with--I don't care!"

The pawnbroker counted out the five shillings, and handed them across
the counter.

"Good-bye!" said Tom, with another attempt at a smile; "I shall have to
change my address to-morrow."

And with that he turned on his heel. I watched him through the window
as he left the shop. He walked straight across the road and went in at
the public-house opposite.

And that glimpse was the last sight I had of Tom Drift for many, many
months.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HOW I WAS KNOCKED DOWN BY AN AUCTIONEER, AND PICKED UP BY A COUNTRYMAN.

One day, about two years after my arrival at the pawnbroker's shop, an
unusual circumstance happened to break the monotony of my unruffled
existence. This was nothing more nor less than a Clearance Sale. I
must tell you how it happened.

For a week, every night, I saw my master poring over a big account-book
in his parlour, comparing the entries in it with those of his pawn-
tickets, and marking off on one list what articles had been pawned and
redeemed, and on another what had been pawned and still remained
unredeemed. So lengthy and complicated a process was this that it
consumed the entire week. The next week further indications of a coming
change manifested themselves. A printer came to the office with a bill
for approval, worded as follows:--

"Great Clearance Sale! The entire valuable and miscellaneous
unredeemed stock of a pawnbroker will be sold by auction at the
Central Mart, on Monday next, by Mr Hammer. Sale to commence at
twelve o'clock precisely. Catalogues will be ready on Saturday, and
may be had on application."

Thus I, and one or two of my neighbours on the shelf, read as we peeped
through the crack at the printer's proof-sheet.

"`Entire valuable and miscellaneous unredeemed stock!' that's a good bit
of writing," observed a pair of silver sugar-tongs near me; "that means
you and me and the rest, Ticker. Who'd have thought of us getting such
a grand name!"

"Well, it strikes me we, at least I, have been lying here idle long
enough," said I; "it's two years since I came here."

"Bless you, that's no time," said the tongs. "I knew a salt-spoon lay
once ten years before he was put up--but then, you know, we silver
things are worth our money any time."

"Yes," said I, "we are."

The tongs laughed. "You don't suppose I meant you when I ta