irritation he was suffering, he said, "It's
not a bad notion, after all; I'm your man."

Now, though Mr. Clowes had anticipated a very different reception to his
politeness, he said nothing, but led the way into his sanctum, trusting
to the locality and its arrangement to have their due effect upon his
guest. Indeed, in this respect, he did but fair justice to the comforts
around him.

The breakfast-table, placed close to a cheerful fire, was spread with
every luxury of that meal. A small spirit lamp burned under a dish of
most appetizing cutlets, in the midst of various kinds of bread, and
different sorts of preserves. The grateful odor of mocha mingled with
the purer perfume of fresh flowers, which, although in midwinter, were
never wanting at Mr. Clowes's breakfast-table, while in the centre
rose a splendid pineapple, the first of the season, duly offered by the
gardener to the grand vizier of Davenport Dunn.

"I can promise you a better breakfast than _he_ would have given you,"
said Clowes, as he motioned his guest to a seat, while he significantly
jerked his thumb towards Dunn's study. "_He_ takes tea and dry toast,
and he quite forgets to order anything else. He has some crank or other
about beginning the day with a light meal; quite a mistake,--don't you
think so?"

"This is not the most favorable moment to make me a convert to that
opinion," said Conway, laughing. "I must confess I incline to _your_
side of the controversy."

"There are herrings there," said Clowes, "and a spatchcock coming. You
see," continued he, returning to the discussion, "he overworks--he
does too much--taxes his powers beyond their strength--beyond any man's
strength;" and here Mr. Clowes threw himself back in his chair, and
looked pompously before him, as though to say, Even Clowes would n't
have constitution for what _he_ does.--"A man must have his natural
rest, sir, and his natural support;" and in evidence of the last, he
re-helped himself to the Strasburg pate.

"Your words are wisdom, and washed down with such Bordeaux I 'd like to
see who 'd gainsay them," said Conway, with a droll twinkle of the eye.

"Better coffee, that, I fancy, than you got in the Crimea," said Clowes,
pointing to the coffee-pot.

"I suspect Lord Raglan himself never saw such a breakfast as this. May I
ask if it be your every-day meal?"

"We change slightly with the seasons. Oysters and Sauterne suit spring;
and then, when summer sets in, we lean