"There's an end of that little game, I s'pose," said he; "that document's lost to us for ever."
"Wait!" said Mr. Effingham, with a grin; "I ain't so sure of that. She's gone to New York, you see; now I know every hole and corner in New York, and I'm known everywhere there, as well as any Yankee among them. I could hunt her up there fifty times easier than I could in London."
"I daresay," said Mr. Griffiths; "but you see there's one thing a trifle against that; you ain't in New York."
"But I could go there, I s'pose, stoopid!"
"Yes; but how, stoopid? You can't pad the hoof over the sea; and them steamers lay it on pretty thick, even in the steerage."
"I'm goin' to America within the next week, Griffiths, and I intend a friend of mine to pay for my passage."
"What! the Bart. again?"
"Exactly. The Bart. again!"
"And what game are you goin' to try on with him now?"
"Ah, Griffiths, that's my business, my boy. All you've got to do is to say goodbye to your D'Ossay to-night, for he's got to journey down to that thunderin' old Devonshire again to-morrow; and before a week's out he intends to be on the briny sea."