—"You determined on seeing if, after all, this were only a fortuitous resemblance."
Mr. Drayton raised his hand. "I am a licensed victualer, that's what I am, and I ain't flowery," he said, in an apologetic tone; "I hain't had the chance of it, being as I'd no schooling—but, deng me, you've just hit it!" And the gentleman who could not be flowery shook hands effusively with the gentleman who could.
"Precisely, Mr. Drayton, precisely," said Hugh Ritson. He paused and watched Drayton closely. That worthy had removed his pipe, and was staring, with stupid eyes and open mouth, into the fire.
"But you found nothing."
"How d'ye know?"
"Your face at this moment says so."
"Pooh! Don't you go along trusting this here time-piece for the time o' day. It ain't been brought up in habits o' truthfulness same as yours."
Hugh Ritson laughed.
"You and I are meant to be friends, Mr. Drayton," he said. "But let us first understand each other. Your idea that you could find your parents in Cumberland was a pure fallacy."
"Eh! Why?"