"Oh, you're coming, are you?"
"Oh, most certainly, sir! Could you doubt it?"
"Then as soon as you come I'll skin you."
"Sir!"
"At eight I'll skin you—to the moment I will; and Mrs. Lite says exactly similar."
On hearing this appalling decision as to his future fate, Mr. Harrison's fortitude gave way. His knees knocked together like castanets. He dropped the tube, and, uttering a dismal wail, turned and slowly fled, scarcely knowing whither, though as a matter of fact his feet mechanically carried him towards that hall in which he had so often held sweet converse with the beloved lady and gentleman who were now so anxious to possess his hide. Still reiterating his fearful wail, like some mournful night-bird, he flapped out into the open, and suddenly found himself within the circle of illumination cast by two bedroom candles, which lit up the following spectacle: Mr. James Bush, with his hands on his knees, guffawing with all his might, and Lady Drake seated on the floor in an Eastern position, attired in an Indian shawl, with her lap full of cigars, brandy-balls, coppers, luggage labels, boxes of pills, sticks of chocolate, rolls of curl-papers, pear-drops, and sealing-wax.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF LADY DRAKE'S SUPPER.