pson, and hesitated.

'For yourself,' said Brass. 'From--'

'No matter about the person they came from,' replied the lawyer. 'Say
me, if you like. We have eccentric friends overhead, Kit, and we
mustn't ask questions or talk too much--you understand? You're to take
them, that's all; and between you and me, I don't think they'll be the
last you'll have to take from the same place. I hope not. Good bye,
Kit. Good bye!'

With many thanks, and many more self-reproaches for having on such
slight grounds suspected one who in their very first conversation
turned out such a different man from what he had supposed, Kit took the
money and made the best of his way home. Mr Brass remained airing
himself at the fire, and resumed his vocal exercise, and his seraphic
smile, simultaneously.

'May I come in?' said Miss Sally, peeping.

'Oh yes, you may come in,' returned her brother.

'Ahem!' coughed Miss Brass interrogatively.

'Why, yes,' returned Sampson, 'I should say as good as done.'

CHAPTER 57

Mr Chuckster's indignant apprehensions were not without foundation.
Certainly the friendship between the single gentleman and Mr Garland
was not suffered to cool, but had a rapid growth and flourished
exceedingly. They were soon in habits of constant intercourse and
communication; and the single gentleman labouring at this time under a
slight attack of illness--the consequence most probably of his late
excited feelings and subsequent disappointment--furnished a reason for
their holding yet more frequent correspondence; so that some one of the
inmates of Abel Cottage, Finchley, came backwards and forwards between
that place and Bevis Marks, almost every day.

As the pony had now thrown off all disguise, and without any mincing of
the matter or beating about the bush, sturdily refused to be driven by
anybody but Kit, it generally happened that whether old Mr Garland
came, or Mr Abel, Kit was of the party. Of all messages and inquiries,
Kit was, in right of his position, the bearer; thus it came about that,
while the single gentleman remained indisposed, Kit turned into Bevis
Marks every morning with nearly as much regularity as the General
Postman.

Mr Sampson Brass, who no doubt had his reasons for looking sharply
about him, soon learnt to distinguish the pony's trot and the clatter
of the little chaise at the corner of the street. Whenever the sound
reached his ears, he would immediately lay down his pen and