ce of his incredulity,
swallowing with an effort the aversion I felt to giving him my story.

"I think it strange he has not informed you," I said; "I was kidnapped
near Annapolis last Christmas-time, and put on board of a slaver, from
which I was rescued by great good fortune, and brought to Scotland. And
I have but just made my way to London."

"The thing is not likely, Mr.--, Mr.--," he said, drumming impatiently on
the board.

Then I lost control of myself.

"As sure as I am heir to Carvel Hall, Mr. Dix," I cried, rising, "you
shall pay for your insolence by forfeiting your agency!"

Now the roan was a natural coward, with a sneer for some and a smirk for
others. He went to the smirk.

"I am but looking to Mr. Carvel's interests the best I know how," he
replied; "and if indeed you be Mr. Richard Carvel, then you must applaud
my caution, sir, in seeking proofs."

"Proofs I have none," I cried; "the very clothes on my back are borrowed
from a Scotch seaman. My God, Mr. Dix, do I look like a rogue?"

"Were I to advance money upon appearances, sir, I should be insolvent in
a fortnight. But stay," he cried uneasily, as I flung back my chair,
"stay, sir. Is there no one of your province in the town to attest your
identity?"

"Ay, that there is," I said bitterly; "you shall hear from Mr. Manners
soon, I promise you."

"Pray, Mr. Carvel," he said, overtaking me on the stairs, "you will
surely allow the situation to be--extraordinary, you will surely commend
my discretion. Permit me, sir, to go with you to Arlington Street." And
he sent a lad in haste to the Exchange for a hackney-chaise, which was
soon brought around.

I got in, somewhat mollified, and ashamed of my heat: still disliking the
man, but acknowledging he had the better right on his side. True to his
kind he gave me every mark of politeness now, asked particularly after
Mr. Carvel's health, and encouraged me to give him as much of my
adventure as I thought proper. But what with the rattle of the carriage
and the street noises and my disgust, I did not care to talk, and
presently told him as much very curtly. He persisted, how: ever, in
pointing out the sights, the Fleet prison, and where the Ludgate stood
six years gone; and the Devil's Tavern, of old Ben Jonson's time, and the
Mitre and the Cheshire Cheese and the Cock, where Dr. Johnson might be
found near the end of the week at his dinner. He showed me the King's
Mews above Charing Cross, and th