had a man hanging round?"

"Old Mo, sure enough. Yes, there's old Mo. But _he_ won't be there.
He'll be swiping, round at The Sun. I can reckon _him_ up! He don't
train for fighting, like he did thirty years ago. One sight of him would
easy your mind--an old dot-and-go-one image!"

"I got the idea the officers would look to catch you there. I _did_,
Wix."

"And I got the idea no such a thing!" Omission again before this last
word. "Why in thunder do you suppose?... Shut to that door!"

"There's no one there--only old Nixon."

"Who's he talking to?"

"Nobody. Empty space!"

"Tell you he is! Look and see." Thereupon Miss Julia, looking through a
transparent square in a glass chessboard into the bar, saw that the
typical sot was certainly under the impression that he had an audience.
He was, in fact, addressing a homily to Michael on the advantages of
Temperance. See, he said--substantially--the reward of self-restraint!
He was no mere bigoted doctrinaire, wedded to the absurd and exaggerated
theories of the Teatolers. He had not a word to say in favour of
Toalabshnensh. It was against Human Naysh. But Manshknewwhairtshtop,
like himself, was always on the safe side. He charged Micky to be on his
guard against Temptation, who lay in wait for inexperience without his
first syllable, which had been absorbed in a hiccup. Micky was not
grateful to Mr. Nixon for this, as it interfered with his hearing of the
conversation within.

"Who are you, in behind that handle?" asked Miss Hawkins. "Come out and
show us your face.... What's this? 'Dog Found'? Yes--very happy to
oblige your aunt.... Stick it up against the front-glass yourself....
'Won't stick of itself,' won't it? Wait till I see for a wafer." She
returned into the small parlour, and foraged in the drawer of her
inkstand, which had probably done no service since her experiment in
_faussure_, till it supplied Mr. Wix with a simile for the fog, ten
minutes since.

"That's young Ikey," said the convict. "I can tell him by his lip. Fetch
him inside. I've a message for him to carry." Miss Julia had found red
wafers; and, after instructing Michael how to use them--to suck them in
earnest, as they had got dry awaiting their mission in life--induced
him into Mr. Wix's presence. Micky's instinctive hatred of this man was
subdued by the recollection of the _douceurs_ he had received from him.
But do what he would, he was only equal to a nod, as greeting. He hardly
receiv