. Stiles. "I can't bear the stuff,
but the doctor says I must have it. You know what doctors are, George!"

Mr. Burton did not deign to reply, but led the way indoors.

"Very comfortable quarters, George," remarked Mr. Stiles, gazing round
the room approvingly; "ship-shape and tidy. I'm glad I met old Dingle.
Why, I might never ha' seen you again; and us such pals, too."

His host grunted, and from the back of a small cupboard, produced a
bottle of whisky and a glass, and set them on the table. After a
momentary hesitation he found another glass.

"Our noble selves," said Mr. Stiles, with a tinge of reproach in his
tones, "and may we never forget old friendships."

Mr. Burton drank the toast. "I hardly know what it's like now, Joe," he
said, slowly. "You wouldn't believe how soon you can lose the taste for
it."

Mr. Stiles said he would take his word for it. "You've got some nice
little public-houses about here, too," he remarked. "There's one I
passed called the Cock and Flowerpot; nice cosy little place it would be
to spend the evening in."

"I never go there," said Mr. Burton, hastily. "I--a friend o' mine here
doesn't approve o' public-'ouses."

"What's the matter with him?" inquired his friend, anxiously.

"It's--it's a 'er," said Mr. Burton, in some confusion.

Mr. Stiles threw himself back in his chair and eyed him with amazement.
Then, recovering his presence of mind, he reached out his hand for the
bottle.

"We'll drink her health," he said, in a deep voice. "What's her name?"

"Mrs. Dutton," was the reply.

Mr. Stiles, with one hand on his heart, toasted her feelingly; then,
filling up again, he drank to the "happy couple."

"She's very strict about drink," said Mr. Burton, eyeing these
proceedings with some severity.

"Any--dibs?" inquired Mr. Stiles, slapping a pocket which failed to ring
in response.

"She's comfortable," replied the other, awkwardly. "Got a little
stationer's shop in the town; steady, old-fashioned business. She's
chapel, and very strict."

"Just what you want," remarked Mr. Stiles, placing his glass on the
table. "What d'ye say to a stroll?"

Mr. Burton assented, and, having replaced the black bottle in the
cupboard, led the way along the cliffs toward the town some half-mile
distant, Mr. Stiles beguiling the way by narrating his adventures since
they had last met. A certain swagger and richness of deportment were
explained by his statement that he h