ignified a desire to see the counting-house so minutely described by
Dickens, and Mr. Hawkins agreed to pilot me thither on our way to
Tavistock Square. We twisted down to the first turning, then up three,
then straight ahead to the first right-hand turn, where we cut to the
left until we came to a stuffed dog, which is the sign of a glover. Just
beyond this my guide plucked me by the sleeve; we halted, and he silently
and solemnly pointed across the street. Sure enough! There it was, the
warehouse with a great stretch of dirty windows in front, through which
we could see dozens of clerks bending over ledgers, just as though Mr.
Dombey were momentarily expected. Over the door was a gilt sign, "The
Bombay Trading Co."

Bobby explained that it was all the same.

I did not care to go in; but at my request Hawkins entered and asked for
Mister Carker, the Junior, but no one knew him.

Then we dropped in at The Silver Shark, a little inn about the size of a
large dustbin of two compartments and a sifter. Here we rested a bit, as
we had walked a long way.

The barmaid who waited upon us was in curl-papers, but she was even then
as pretty if not prettier than the barmaid at the public in Angel Court,
and that is saying a good deal. She was about as tall as Trilby or as
Ellen Terry, which is a very nice height, I think.

As we rested, Mr. Hawkins told the barmaid and me how Rogue Riderhood
came to this very public, through that same doorway, just after he had
his Alfred David took down by the Governors Both. He was a slouching dog,
was the Rogue. He wore an old, sodden fur cap, Winter and Summer,
formless and mangy; it looked like a drowned cat. His hands were always
in his pockets up to his elbows, when they were not reaching for
something, and when he was out after game his walk was a half-shuffle and
run.

Hawkins saw him starting off this way one night and followed him--knowing
there was mischief on hand--followed him for two hours through the fog
and rain. It was midnight and the last stroke of the bells that tolled
the hour had ceased, and their echo was dying away, when all at once----

But the story is too long to relate here. It is so long that when Mr.
Hawkins had finished it was too late to reach Tavistock Square before
dark. Mr. Hawkins explained that as bats and owls and rats come out only
when the sun has disappeared, so there are other things that can be seen
best by night. And as he did not go on until the