a careful observation of every part of his dress, from the
silk hat to the Wellingtons, he shook his head in a desponding manner,
and merely said--"Tripe!"

"What's to be done with this here letter?" enquired Snipe.

"Open and read it of course. By dad! I don't think you _are_ up to
dominoes; you must go back to skittles. He's evidently enclosed the
sovereign in the note; for he never could have been fool enough to
think that two gentlemen like us are to give tick for such a sum to a
stranger."

"What sum?" enquired Snipe.

"Why, the sovereign he was to pay for delivering the letter. If you
don't like to read it yourself, give it to the old snob--Pitskiver
will give you a tip."

"But the gentleman said he would show his gratitude"--

"He should have showed his tin fust. There ain't no use of denying it,
Snipe; this is a wery low establishment, and I shall cut it as soon as
I can. What right has a dowdy like our Sophia to be getting billydoos
from fellers as ought to be ashamed of theirselves for getting off
their three-legged stools at this time of the day? Give the note to
old Pits--and here, I think, he is."

Mr Pitskiver--or old Pits, as he was irreverently called by his
domestic--came rapidly up the street. He was a little man, between
fifty and sixty years of age, with an exceedingly stout body and very
thin legs. He was very red in the face, and very short in the neck. A
bright blue coat, lively-coloured waistcoat, and light-green silk
handkerchief fastened with two sparkling pins, united to each other by
a gold chain, check trowsers, and polished French leather boots,
composed his attire. He wore an eyeglass though he was not
short-sighted, and a beautifully inlaid riding-whip though he never
rode. His white muslin pocket-handkerchief hung very prominently out
of the breast pocket of his coat, and his hat was set a little on one
side of his head, and rested with a coquettish air on the top of the
left whisker. What with his prodigious width, and the flourishing of
his whip, and the imposing dignity of his appearance altogether, he
seemed to fill the street. Several humble pedestrians stepped off the
pavement on to the dirty causeway to give him room. Daggles drew up,
Snipe slunk back to hold the door, and Mr Pitskiver retired from the
eyes of men, and entered his own hall, followed by his retainers.

"If you please, sir," said Snipe, "I have a letter for Miss Sophiar."

"Then don't you think you had b