Red.—“If you go he’ll murder you.”
“Damn you both!” I roared; and letting fly both fists at the same time, I turned them both together on their backs and thus put an end to the conversation. Only just in time, though, for the remaining ten tribes, or their representatives, were hurrying towards me, each one swaying aloft a gaudy-coloured tract; and I saw no way of escaping but by fairly making a run for it, which I accordingly did, pursued by the ten tribes; and even had I been a centipede, I would have assuredly been torn limb from limb, had I not just then rushed into the arms of my feline friend from Bond Street.
He purred, gave me a paw and many congratulations; was so glad I had passed,—but, to be sure, knew I would,—and so happy I had escaped the Jews; would I take a glass of beer?
I said, “I didn’t mind;” so we adjourned (the right word in the right place—adjourned) to a quiet adjoining hotel.
“Now,” said he, as he tendered the waiter a five-pound Bank of England note, “you must not take it amiss, Doctor, but—”
“No smaller change, sir?” asked the waiter.
“I’m afraid,” said my friend (?), opening and turning over the contents of a well-lined pocket-book, “I’ve only got five—oh, here are sovs, he! he!” Then turning to me: “I was going to observe,” he continued, “that if you want a pound or two, he! he!—you know young fellows will be young fellows—only don’t say a word to my father, he! he! he!—highly respectable man. Another glass of beer? No? Well, we will go and see father!”
“But,” said I, “I really must go home first.”
“Oh dear no; don’t think of such a thing.”
“I’m deuced hungry,” continued I.