"'Tis only the fortune of war, Dummie, and a mere trifle: the heads manufactured at Thames Court are not easily put out of order.—But tell me, how come you here?"
"Vy, I had been lushing heavy vet"
"Till you grew light in the head, eh? and fell into the kennel."
"Yes."
"Mine is a worse business than that, I fear:" and therewith Paul, in a lower voice, related to the trusty Dummie the train of accidents which had conducted him to his present asylum. Dummie's face elongated as he listened: however, when the narrative was over, he endeavoured such consolatory palliatives as occurred to him. He represented, first, the possibility that the gentleman might not take the trouble to appear; secondly, the certainty that no watch was found about Paul's person; thirdly, the fact that, even by the gentleman's confession, Paul had not been the actual offender; fourthly, if the worst came to the worst, what were a few weeks' or even months' imprisonment?
"Blow me tight!" said Dummie, "if it
