ed it on the ground, picked it up, and sitting down to write, glanced
at Newman Noggs, who was staring at the wall with an intensity so
remarkable, that Arthur was quite alarmed.

'Do you see anything particular, Mr Noggs?' said Arthur, trying to
follow the direction of Newman's eyes--which was an impossibility, and a
thing no man had ever done.

'Only a cobweb,' replied Newman.

'Oh! is that all?'

'No,' said Newman. 'There's a fly in it.'

'There are a good many cobwebs here,' observed Arthur Gride.

'So there are in our place,' returned Newman; 'and flies too.'

Newman appeared to derive great entertainment from this repartee, and
to the great discomposure of Arthur Gride's nerves, produced a series of
sharp cracks from his finger-joints, resembling the noise of a distant
discharge of small artillery. Arthur succeeded in finishing his reply
to Ralph's note, nevertheless, and at length handed it over to the
eccentric messenger for delivery.

'That's it, Mr Noggs,' said Gride.

Newman gave a nod, put it in his hat, and was shuffling away, when
Gride, whose doting delight knew no bounds, beckoned him back again, and
said, in a shrill whisper, and with a grin which puckered up his whole
face, and almost obscured his eyes:

'Will you--will you take a little drop of something--just a taste?'

In good fellowship (if Arthur Gride had been capable of it) Newman would
not have drunk with him one bubble of the richest wine that was ever
made; but to see what he would be at, and to punish him as much as he
could, he accepted the offer immediately.

Arthur Gride, therefore, again applied himself to the press, and from a
shelf laden with tall Flemish drinking-glasses, and quaint bottles:
some with necks like so many storks, and others with square Dutch-built
bodies and short fat apoplectic throats: took down one dusty bottle of
promising appearance, and two glasses of curiously small size.

'You never tasted this,' said Arthur. 'It's EAU-D'OR--golden water. I
like it on account of its name. It's a delicious name. Water of gold,
golden water! O dear me, it seems quite a sin to drink it!'

As his courage appeared to be fast failing him, and he trifled with the
stopper in a manner which threatened the dismissal of the bottle to its
old place, Newman took up one of the little glasses, and clinked it,
twice or thrice, against the bottle, as a gentle reminder that he
had not been helped yet. With a deep sigh, Arthur Grid