Ann Chovy, Miss Mary Gold, Miss Polly Anthus, and all that kind of thing."--"Hang it all; a good dinner for eight people; thousand pities we missed it." By this time, our cookery was proceeding in due course. Two splendid bloaters, whole, lay extended where chestnuts are roasted; while two more, split open, hung suspended from a large toasting-fork, held by Gingham, who told me to look and learn, but not to meddle. With a clear bright fire, they soon began to spit. Nor was there wanting another token of our operations. For now the savoury odour of four red herrings, simultaneously under a brisk process of culinary preparation, diffused itself through the apartment, and no doubt through the whole hotel, from the cellar to the attics. The effect on our friends in the next room was instantaneous. Conversation ceased. Then there was a deal of sniffing--then audible whispering and suppressed laughter--then again, a dead silence. Gingham and I exchanged looks. "We _must_ be acquainted," said Gingham, quietly; "and the sooner the better." I saw he had made up his mind, and was prepared for what was about to take place. Then the conversation was heard a little louder, but not distinguishable. There was evidently a council of war. Much laughter. Then, audibly spoken, "Are you fond of herrings?"--"Very; capital for breakfast."--"So am I, very; that is, of _red_ herrings. _Fresh_, can't endure them."--"Nor I; they have such a horrid SMELL. But a bloater,--often dined off them up the country; didn't we, major?"--"Oh yes, lots of times. But you were moderate. Never could manage above half-a-dozen at a sitting."--"Ring for the waiter."--"No, no; nonsense. Major M--, YOU." After a moment's pause, one of the party left the room; walked, apparently to the end of the passage; then walked back again; opened our door; entered, and politely apologised for the mistake. He was a middle-aged, well-built, gentlemanly-looking man, with _bonhomie_ beaming in his countenance, and came at once to business. His eye dropped upon the herrings. "Beg ten thousand pardons. Oh! I see it's _here_. We perceived that bloaters were frying somewhere in the house, and thought we should like to try a few. Will you have the kindness to inform me where they can be procured? Didn't know there was a single bloater in all Falmouth." I, in my simplicity, thought the major was really asking for _information_, and was going to tell him of several shops where I had seen bloaters; but Gingham was too quick for me. "Here is a barrel-full," said Gingham, pointing to the corner of the room. "Shall be most happy to supply you and your friends with any quantity. Do me the favour to accept of two or three dozen." "Oh no, sir," said Major M--, drawing up, as if he had been misunderstood. The major was playing a higher game. "Couldn't think of such a thing. Thought you had procured them in the town."