d several fresh
anecdotes of himself and Sam Jones that evening; anecdotes which, at the
immediate risk of choking, Mr. Ketchmaid was obliged to indorse.

A week passed, and Mr. Wiggett still graced with his presence the bar of
the Ship. The landlord lost flesh, and began seriously to consider the
advisability of making a clean breast of the whole affair. Mr. Wiggett
watched him anxiously, and with a skill born of a life-long study of
humanity, realised that his visit was drawing to an end. At last, one
day, Mr. Ketchmaid put the matter bluntly.

"I shall tell the chaps to-night that it was a little joke on my part,"
he announced, with grim decision; "then I shall take you by the collar
and kick you into the road."

Mr. Wiggett sighed and shook his head.

"It'll be a terrible show-up for you," he said, softly. "You'd better
make it worth my while, and I'll tell 'em this evening that I'm going to
New Zealand to live with a niece of mine there, and that you've paid my
passage for me. I don't like telling any more lies, but, seeing it's for
you, I'll do it for a couple of pounds."

"Five shillings," snarled Mr. Ketchmaid.

Mr. Wiggett smiled comfortably and shook his head. Mr. Ketchmaid raised
his offer to ten shillings, to a pound, and finally, after a few remarks
which prompted Mr. Wiggett to state that hard words broke no bones,
flung into the bar and fetched the money.

The news of Mr. Wiggett's departure went round the village at once, the
landlord himself breaking the news to the next customer, and an overflow
meeting assembled that evening to bid the emigrant farewell.

The landlord noted with pleasure that business was brisk. Several
gentlemen stood drink to Mr. Wiggett, and in return he put his hand in
his own pocket and ordered glasses round. Mr. Ketchmaid, in a state of
some uneasiness, took the order, and then Mr. Wiggett, with the air of
one conferring inestimable benefits, produced a lucky halfpenny, which
had once belonged to Sam Jones, and insisted upon his keeping it.

"This is my last night, mates," he said, mournfully, as he acknowledged
the drinking of his health. "In many ports I've been, and many snug
pubs I 'ave visited, but I never in all my days come across a nicer,
kinder-'earted lot o' men than wot you are."

"Hear, hear," said Mr. Clark.

Mr. Wiggett paused, and, taking a sip from his glass to hide his
emotion, resumed.

"In my lonely pilgrimage through life, crippled and 'aving to