s looked rather blank at this unexpected sally.

"We would venture to suggest, Mr. Titmouse," said Mr. Gammon, seriously,
"the _absolute necessity_ there is for everything on your part, and our
parts, to go on as quietly as before, for a little time to come: to be
safe and successful, my dear sir, we must be very--very _secret_."

"Oh, I see, gents! I see; mum--mum's the word, for the present! But, I
_must_ say, if there is any one whom I want to hear of it, sooner than
another, it's"----

"Rag-bag and Co., I suppose! ha, ha, ha!" interrupted Mr. Gammon, his
partners echoing his gentle laugh.

"Ha, ha, ha! Cuss the cats--that's it--ha, ha, ha!" echoed Mr. Titmouse;
who, getting up out of his chair, could not resist capering to and fro,
sticking his hands on his hips, in something of the attitude of a
hornpipe dancer, whistling and humming by turns, and indulging in
various other wild antics.

"And now, gents--excuse me, but, to do a bit of business--when am I to
_begin_ scattering the shiners, eh?" he inquired, interrupting a
low-toned, but somewhat vehement conversation, between the two senior
partners; while Snap sat silently eying him like a terrier a rat coming
within his reach!

"Oh, of course, sir!" replied Mr. Gammon, rather coldly,
"very--considerable--delay is unavoidable. All we have done, as yet, is
to discover that, as far as we are advised, and can judge, you will turn
out to be the right owner; but--as we've already intimated--very
extensive and expensive operations must be immediately commenced, before
you can be put into possession. There are some who won't be persuaded to
_part_ with L10,000 a-year, Mr. Titmouse, for the mere asking!" added
Mr. Gammon, with an anxious and bitter smile.

"The devil there are! _Who_ are they that want to keep me any longer out
of what's my own?--what's justly mine? Eh? I want to know! Haven't they
kept me out long enough?--hang 'em! Put 'em in prison directly--don't
spare 'em--the villains!"

"They'll probably, ere long, find their way in that direction--for how,"
replied Mr. Quirk, "he's ever to make up, poor devil, the mesne
profits"----

"_Mean_ profits?--is that all you call them, gents? 'Pon my life, it's
rogue's money--villain's profits! So don't spare him--d--n him!--he's
robbed the fatherless, which I am, and an orphan. Keep me out of what's
mine, indeed! Curse me if he shall, though!"

"My dear Mr. Titmouse," said Gammon, very gravely, "we are getting