Everybody waiting, evidently. Apology. "Ah!" says Pendell, "um—ah—now you've come, we'll—um——" and rings the bell.
I recognise some of our companions out otter-hunting to-day. Galaxy, too, of Cornish beauty, which means the darkest, brightest eyes and the clearest, freshest complexions. Not being introduced, I look about for Old Ruddock. There is an elderly gentleman sitting at a table looking over a photograph book. This is the nearest approach to Old Ruddock that I can see. Dinner announced. I take in Miss Bodd, of Popthlanack, and follow the Trelissacs, the Tregonies of Tregivel, and Major Penolver, with Mrs. Somebody of Somewhere. Whom Ruddock takes, I don't know.
A Discovery.—I am seated next to Old Ruddock of Ruddock, at dinner. Pendell introduces us. A hale, hearty, elderly gentleman, with, if any expression at all, rather a sleepy one, as if a very little over-feeding would send him into a doze.
Now then for a "Nicht wi' Ruddock!"
AMBITION.
Mr. Tittups (suggesting impossible Bank to full-sized Nimrod). "Don't you Think we could have it here, Sir?"