tle matter
of Mr Richard?'

'None,' replied the dwarf, seizing the saucepan. 'Let us drink the
lovely Sarah.'

'If we could do it in something, sir, that wasn't quite boiling,'
suggested Brass humbly, 'perhaps it would be better. I think it will
be more agreeable to Sarah's feelings, when she comes to hear from me
of the honour you have done her, if she learns it was in liquor rather
cooler than the last, Sir.'

But to these remonstrances, Mr Quilp turned a deaf ear. Sampson Brass,
who was, by this time, anything but sober, being compelled to take
further draughts of the same strong bowl, found that, instead of at all
contributing to his recovery, they had the novel effect of making the
counting-house spin round and round with extreme velocity, and causing
the floor and ceiling to heave in a very distressing manner. After a
brief stupor, he awoke to a consciousness of being partly under the
table and partly under the grate. This position not being the most
comfortable one he could have chosen for himself, he managed to stagger
to his feet, and, holding on by the admiral, looked round for his host.

Mr Brass's first impression was, that his host was gone and had left
him there alone--perhaps locked him in for the night. A strong smell
of tobacco, however, suggested a new train of ideas, he looked upward,
and saw that the dwarf was smoking in his hammock.

'Good bye, Sir,' cried Brass faintly. 'Good bye, Sir.'

'Won't you stop all night?' said the dwarf, peeping out. 'Do stop all
night!'

'I couldn't indeed, Sir,' replied Brass, who was almost dead from
nausea and the closeness of the room. 'If you'd have the goodness to
show me a light, so that I may see my way across the yard, sir--'

Quilp was out in an instant; not with his legs first, or his head
first, or his arms first, but bodily--altogether.

'To be sure,' he said, taking up a lantern, which was now the only
light in the place. 'Be careful how you go, my dear friend. Be sure
to pick your way among the timber, for all the rusty nails are upwards.
There's a dog in the lane. He bit a man last night, and a woman the
night before, and last Tuesday he killed a child--but that was in play.
Don't go too near him.'

'Which side of the road is he, sir?' asked Brass, in great dismay.

'He lives on the right hand,' said Quilp, 'but sometimes he hides on
the left, ready for a spring. He's uncertain in that respect. Mind
you take care of yourself.