d sought to arouse Mr.
Gammon--no easy task.

"What's up?" shouted her lodger in a voice of half-remembered
conviviality. "House on fire?"

"I hope not indeed. There wouldn't have been much chance for you if it
was. It's your friend Mr. Greenacre, as says he must see you for a
minute."

"All right; send him up, please. What the dickens can he want at this
time o' night!"

Mr. Gammon having promised to see his visitor out again, with due
attention to the house door, the landlady showed a light whilst Mr.
Greenacre mounted the stairs. The gas-jet in his friend's bedroom
displayed him as a gaunt, ill-dressed man of about forty, with a long
unwholesome face, lank hair, and prominent eyes. He began with
elaborate apologies, phrased and uttered with more refinement than his
appearance would have led one to expect. No; he would on no account be
seated. Under the circumstances he could not dream of staying more than
two, or at most three, minutes. He felt really ashamed of himself for
such a flagrant breach of social custom; but if his friend would listen
patiently for one minute--nay, for less.

"I know what you're driving at," broke in Gammon good-humouredly, as he
sat in bed with his knees up. "You've nowhere to sleep--ain't that it?"

"No, no; I assure you no!" exclaimed the other, with unfailing
politeness. "I have excellent lodgings in the parish of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields; besides, you don't imagine I should disturb you
after midnight for such a trivial cause! You have heard of the death of
Lord Bolsover?"

"Never knew he was living," cried Gammon.

"Nonsense, you are an incorrigible joker. The poor fellow died nearly a
week ago. Of course I must attend his funeral to-morrow down at
Hitchin; I really couldn't neglect to attend his funeral. And here
comes my difficulty. At present I'm driving a' Saponaria' van, and I
shall have to provide a substitute, you see. I thought I had found one,
a very decent fellow called Grosvenor, who declares, by the by, that he
can trace his connexion with the aristocratic house--interesting, isn't
it? But Grosvenor has got into trouble to-day--something about passing
a bad half-crown--a mere mistake, I'm quite sure. Now I've been trying
to find someone else--not an easy thing; and as I _must_ have a
substitute by nine to-morrow, I came in despair to you. I'm _sure_ in
your wide acquaintance, my dear Gammon--"

"Hold on, what's 'Saponaria'?"

"A new washing powder; only star