Suddenly Mr. Figgins caught sight of a black figure that was pantomiming to him very eagerly in the distance.
A flash of joy rushed across his troubled spirit.
It was Tinker.
He could judge by his actions he was ready to take his place, and therefore he exclaimed aloud—
"I've found a substitute."
"Where?" demanded the bashaw, looking intensely disappointed.
"Here de dustibute," shouted Tinker, in reply; "make way, you whitey-brown Turkies, an' let de rale colour come forrards."
As he spoke, he elbowed his way through the crowd till he reached the space in front of the seat of justice.
Here he shook hands with Mr. Figgins, and nodded as familiarly to the bashaw as though he had been a particular friend of his.
"What son of Jehanum is that?" growled the bashaw, scowling fiercely at Tinker.