ing from one to the other of us, with a kind of
comical despair, when, hearing through the open door between the old
gentleman's room and his own, the sounds of a noisy irruption and the
clinking of glasses beginning again, he went back, and with a torrent of
rough words drove the roysterers forth, shutting and locking the door
after them.

Then he came strolling back, leaned his arm on the mantelpiece, and bade
my grandfather tell him all about it. I can see him yet, this huge ruddy
man, spreading himself by the fireplace, taking up most of the room
with his person, while he of the flannel dressing-gown wandered about
_tee-heeing_ with laughter--and, round one side or the other, or between
the legs of the Colossus, making an occasional feeble poke at the fire.

It was curious also to see how my grandfather's serene simplicity of
manner and speech compelled belief. I am sure that at first the big man
Dick had nothing in his mind but turning us out into the street as he
had done the roysterers. But as William Lyon went on, his bright eye
grew more thoughtful, and when my grandfather handed him the slip with
the name of Mr. Wringham Pollixfen Poole upon it, he absolutely broke
into a hurricane of laughter, which, however, sounded to me not a little
forced and hollow--though he slapped his leg so loud and hard that the
little man in the dressing-gown stopped open-mouthed and dropped his
poker on the floor.

"It seems to me," he cried shrilly, "that if you hit yourself like that,
Dick Poole, you will split your buckskin breeches, which appear to be
new."

But the big man took not the least notice. He only stared at the scrap
of paper, and then started to laugh again.

"Oh, don't do that!" cried his partner. "You will blow my windows out,
and you know how I hate a draught!"

And indeed they were rattling in their frames. Then the huge Dick went
forward and took my grandfather by the hand.

"You are sure you have got him?" he inquired; "remember, he is slippery
as an eel."

"My wife is looking after him--my three sons also," said William Lyon,
"and I think it likely that the stamp he got from Rob will keep him
decently quiet for a day at least. You see," he added apologetically,
"he drave the knife into the thick of the poor lad's leg!"

"Wringham?" cried the big man, "why, I did not think he had so muckle
spunk!"

"Is he close freend of yours?" my grandfather inquired a little
anxiously. For he did not wish to l