e is--where is he,
Batchelor?"

"He works at the top of Style Street," I said; "you will know the place
by the writing all over the flagstones on either side."

With this lucid direction Doubleday started, and I in the meanwhile was
left to go on with my usual work. Most of the fellows were away at
dinner, and Hawkesbury as before was invisible, so I had the place
pretty much to myself, and was spared, for a time, at any rate, a good
deal of unwelcome questioning.

In due time there was a sound of scuffling and protest on the stairs
outside, and Doubleday reappeared dragging in Billy. That youthful
hero, evidently doubting the import of this strange summons, was in a
highly indignant frame of mind at being thus hauled along by the
mischievous Doubleday, who, vouchsafing no explanation and heeding no
protest, had simply made a grab at his unlucky young victim, and then
led him away, box, brushes, and all, to Hawk Street.

"Do you hear? turn it up--do you hear?" he cried, as they entered. "Oh,
go on, you let my arm be--let me go, do you hear?"

At this point he recognised me, who thought it well to interpose.

"Don't alarm yourself, Billy," said I, "no one's going to hurt you."

"This cove do--and he _are_!"

"Well, he didn't mean. The gentlemen here want to ask you some
questions, that's all."

"I ain't a-goin' to be arsted no questions. They ain't my governors, so
I let them know. I ain't a-goin' to be arsted questions by any one 'sep
my governor."

"But what they want to ask you, Billy," said I, "has something to do
with Mr Smith's happiness and mine. All you have to do is to tell the
truth."

This explanation mollified the ruffled Billy somewhat.

"Come, young cock-sparrow," said Doubleday, returning from announcing
the distinguished visitor, "you're wanted inside. They want you, too,
Batch."

We entered. Billy, as usual, was more at his ease than any one else.
"What cheer? Well, what do you want to arst me?" he cried, jauntily.

The partners, thus encouraged, looked rather amused, and Mr Barnacle
said, "You're the little shoeblack, are you?"

"In corse I are!"

"And you know this gentleman?"

"Yaas; I knows the animal!"

"And you know Mr Smith?"

"What! my governor? He ain't no concern of yourn," retorted the boy,
firing up a little at this liberty taken with his "governor's" name.

Mr Barnacle gazed curiously at the strange urchin through his
spectacles, and then resumed, in as