still for half a minute after
the question, and then jumping from his seat, declined the offer.
"No, no; nothing, thank you. Only write to Mark, and say that I shall
be there to-morrow," and then, taking his hat, he hurried out of the
office. "What an ass I am," he said to himself as he went: "as if it
were of any use now to be particular!"

He then got into a cab and had himself driven half-way up Portman
Street towards the New Road, and walking from thence a few hundred
yards down a cross-street he came to a public-house. It was called
the "Goat and Compasses,"--a very meaningless name, one would say;
but the house boasted of being a place of public entertainment very
long established on that site, having been a tavern out in the
country in the days of Cromwell. At that time the pious landlord,
putting up a pious legend for the benefit of his pious customers, had
declared that--"God encompasseth us." The "Goat and Compasses" in
these days does quite as well; and, considering the present character
of the house, was perhaps less unsuitable than the old legend. "Is
Mr. Austen here?" asked Mr. Sowerby of the man at the bar.

"Which on 'em? Not Mr. John; he ain't here. Mr. Tom is in--the little
room on the left-hand side." The man whom Mr. Sowerby would have
preferred to see was the elder brother, John; but as he was not to
be found, he did go into the little room. In that room he found--Mr.
Austen, junior, according to one arrangement of nomenclature, and Mr.
Tom Tozer according to another. To gentlemen of the legal profession
he generally chose to introduce himself as belonging to the
respectable family of the Austens; but among his intimates he had
always been--Tozer. Mr. Sowerby, though he was intimate with the
family, did not love the Tozers: but he especially hated Tom Tozer.
Tom Tozer was a bull-necked, beetle-browed fellow, the expression of
whose face was eloquent with acknowledged roguery. "I am a rogue,"
it seemed to say. "I know it; all the world knows it: but you're
another. All the world don't know that, but I do. Men are all rogues,
pretty nigh. Some are soft rogues, and some are 'cute rogues. I am a
'cute one; so mind your eye." It was with such words that Tom Tozer's
face spoke out; and though a thorough liar in his heart, he was not a
liar in his face. "Well, Tozer," said Mr. Sowerby, absolutely shaking
hands with the dirty miscreant, "I wanted to see your brother."

"John ain't here, and ain't like; b