d before they regained the town the old man's
countenance had become grave and sad, and his mind was evidently
wandering among the lights--mayhap among the shadows--of "other days."

CHAPTER NINE.

UNBUSINESSLIKE PROCEEDINGS IN "THE OFFICE"--PEEKINS GROWS DESPERATE AND
TAKES REFUGE IN THE "THREE JOLLY TARS."

Mr Denham stood in front of his office fire with a coat-tail, as usual,
under each arm; his feet planted on two little roses that grew on each
side of a large bouquet which flourished perennially on his rug, and his
eyes fixed on the ceiling. He had just arrived at Redwharf Lane, and
looked quite fresh and ruddy from the exercise of walking, for Denham
was a great walker, and frequently did the distance between his house
and his office on foot.

Mr Crumps sat shivering in his own room, looking the reverse of ruddy,
for Crumps was old and his blood was thin, and there was no fire in his
room. It is but justice to say, however, that this was no fault of
Denham's, for the apartment of his junior partner did not possess a
fireplace, and it could not be expected that a fire should be lit, _a
la_ Red Indian, on the middle of the floor. At all events Crumps did
not expect it. He was not, therefore, liable to disappointment in his
expectations. He contented himself, poor old man, with such genial
gusts of second-hand warmth as burst in upon him from time to time from
Denham's room when the door was open, or poured in upon him in
ameliorating rivulets through the keyhole, like a little gulf-stream,
when the door was shut.

"The letters, sir," said Peekins, the meek blue tiger in buttons,
entering at that moment and laying a pile of letters on the table.

Had Peekins been a little dog without a soul, capable of wagging his
tail and fawning, Denham would have patted him, but, being only a boy in
blue with a meek spirit, the great man paid no attention to him
whatever. He continued to gaze at the ceiling as if he were reading his
destiny there. Perhaps he would have looked as blank as the ceiling had
he known what that destiny was to be; but he did not know, fortunately
(or unfortunately, if the reader chooses), hence he turned with a calm
undisturbed countenance to peruse his letters after the boy had retired.

We do not say that Denham was a hard man; by no means; he was only
peculiar in his views of things in general; that was all!

For some time Denham broke seals, read contents, and made jottings,
with