icer called to them to
stop, and came up with a pint pot of porter in his hand.

'This is Christopher Nubbles, isn't it, that come in last night for
felony?' said the man.

His comrade replied that this was the chicken in question.

'Then here's your beer,' said the other man to Christopher. 'What are
you looking at? There an't a discharge in it.'

'I beg your pardon,' said Kit. 'Who sent it me?'

'Why, your friend,' replied the man. 'You're to have it every day, he
says. And so you will, if he pays for it.'

'My friend!' repeated Kit.

'You're all abroad, seemingly,' returned the other man. 'There's his
letter. Take hold!'

Kit took it, and when he was locked up again, read as follows.

'Drink of this cup, you'll find there's a spell in its every drop
'gainst the ills of mortality. Talk of the cordial that sparkled for
Helen! HER cup was a fiction, but this is reality (Barclay and
Co.'s).--If they ever send it in a flat state, complain to the
Governor. Yours, R. S.'

'R. S.!' said Kit, after some consideration. 'It must be Mr Richard
Swiveller. Well, its very kind of him, and I thank him heartily.'

CHAPTER 62

A faint light, twinkling from the window of the counting-house on
Quilp's wharf, and looking inflamed and red through the night-fog, as
though it suffered from it like an eye, forewarned Mr Sampson Brass, as
he approached the wooden cabin with a cautious step, that the excellent
proprietor, his esteemed client, was inside, and probably waiting with
his accustomed patience and sweetness of temper the fulfilment of the
appointment which now brought Mr Brass within his fair domain.

'A treacherous place to pick one's steps in, of a dark night,' muttered
Sampson, as he stumbled for the twentieth time over some stray lumber,
and limped in pain. 'I believe that boy strews the ground differently
every day, on purpose to bruise and maim one; unless his master does it
with his own hands, which is more than likely. I hate to come to this
place without Sally. She's more protection than a dozen men.'

As he paid this compliment to the merit of the absent charmer, Mr Brass
came to a halt; looking doubtfully towards the light, and over his
shoulder.

'What's he about, I wonder?' murmured the lawyer, standing on tiptoe,
and endeavouring to obtain a glimpse of what was passing inside, which
at that distance was impossible--'drinking, I suppose,--making himself
more fiery and furious, and