On Ned Hayward the clerk's small eyes fixed with a keen, inquisitive, and marvelling glance, as with his gay dashing air, half military, half sporting, firm and yet light, measured and yet easy, he advanced into the room and approached the table. It was a sort of animal that Mr. Bacon had never seen in his life before, and he looked just like a young pig when it sees a stagecoach dash by, standing firm for a minute, but ready in an instant to toss up its snout, curl up its tail, and caper off with a squeak as fast as it can go. "Well, Mr. Witherington," said Ned Hayward, perfectly aware that nothing so much provokes a pompous man as mistaking his name, "here we are according to appointment, and doubtless you are ready to take our depositions, Mr. Witherington." "Wittingham, Sir," said the magistrate, impressively, laying a strong emphasis on each syllable, "I beg you'll give me my own name, and nobody else's." "Ay, ay, Whittington," said Ned Hayward, with the utmost composure, "I forgot; I knew it was some absurd name in an old ballad or story, and confounded you somehow or other with the man in 'Chevy Chase' who When his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumps. But I remember now, you're the son of the Lord Mayor of London, the cat-man." "No, Sir, no," exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, whose face had turned purple with rage, "I am not his son, and you must be a fool to think so, for he died two hundred years ago." "Oh, I know nothing of history," said Ned Hayward, laughing, "and besides, I dare say it's all a fable." "This gentleman's name is Wittingham, Sir," said the clerk, "W-I-T-wit, T-I-N-G-ting, H-A-M ham, Wittingham." "Oh, thank you, thank you, Sir," said the young gentleman, "I shan't forget it now, '_Littera scripta manet_,' Mr. What's-your-name?" "My name is Bacon, Sir," said the clerk, with a grunt. "Ah, very well, very well," replied Ned Hayward, "now to business. Wittingham, Bacon, and Co., I shan't forget that; an excellent good firm, especially when the junior partner is cut into rashers and well roasted. We are here, Sir, to tender information upon oath, when it can no longer be of any avail, which we tendered last night, when it might have been of avail, in regard to an attempt at highway robbery committed yesterday evening upon the persons of two ladies in this neighbourhood, namely, Mrs. Clifford and her daughter." "Tendered last night, Sir!" exclaimed the clerk, in spite of a tremendous nudge from Mr. Wittingham, "pray whom did you tender it to?" "To the right reverend gentleman on the bench," said Ned Hayward, with a profound bow to the worthy magistrate; and then looking at him full in the face with a significant smile, the young gentleman added, "he refused to take our depositions on secret motives, or information of his own, which as it was kept in the profound depth of his mind, I will not pretend to penetrate."