ead pencils,
corkscrews, my silver-mounted flute, with all the mounts gone, and the
cruets minus their silver tops. Also all the silver spoons, the electros
being turned out upon the heap as "non-negotiables." The piano had been
split open and gutted--it was an unredeemed Grand--the burglar or
burglars having been seized with the suspicion that I had secreted
articles of value in the body of the instrument. And so I had! one
valuable in particular being a favourite hand or carriage-clock mosaic,
and a mass of miniature dials, gold-mounted, the dials at one time
having been capable of giving all kinds of unnecessary information,
before the death of the manufacturer, who departed this life leaving no
one skilled enough in the world to undertake the repairs; but it was a
great curiosity, and I set great store by it. So did the burglars, for
they had found it and carried it away, along with a large quantity of
portable property too numerous to mention in the pages of this magazine
without changing their appearance to a kind of "Catalogue of Sale."

[Illustration: "I STAGGERED TO AN EASY CHAIR."]

Yes--I was robbed. And I had been so very sure that to leave the
premises to take care of themselves was so exceedingly wise an
expedient. "Cocksure Kippen" had been my nickname in Bermondsey since I
had been in the pawnbrokering, just because I had opinions of my own,
and did not call on other people to let me know _their_ views of a
question upon which I had made up my mind. What did I want with other
people's opinions, when I knew my own were ever so much better? But I
was a little crestfallen on the present occasion--I will say that. And
it was my own fault for going down to Tom's--I will say that too. What
did I want with country air? I had not been ailing anything. I had
always considered a fortnight in Tom Brisket's company a frightful waste
of time. I was never without an excellent appetite, and I measured
forty-one inches round the chest, one inch for every year of my life, I
had said jocosely, only yesterday, before I returned to town, but there
was no jocosity in me when I was at home again--if this bear-garden
could be called home, that is, or made to look like home ever any more!

[Illustration: "'IT WAS A CLEAN JOB,' THE POLICEMAN SAID."]

It was a clean job, the policeman said--quite admiringly--when I had
strength to reach the front door and call him in. Why had I not gone
round to the station-house, the policema