"Ah," said the little man, "indeed!" His words were meaningless enough, but there was really a genuine air of interest in his tone. He was a vulgar fellow, no doubt; but Richard rather liked him, mainly because it was evident that the other was captivated by him. He had laid himself out to please John Trevethick and his friend Solomon for the last six months, without success, yet here was a man who had evidently appreciated him at once. If he was but a bagman, or something of that sort, it was only the more creditable to his own powers of pleasing; and his vanity--and Richard was as vain of his social attractions as a girl--was flattered accordingly. In his solitude and wretchedness, too, the society of this stranger had been very welcome. "I am sorry," said Richard, when they had passed some hours together, and it was getting near nine o'clock, "that I am obliged to leave Plymouth so soon. It would have given me great pleasure if you could have come and dined with me; though, indeed, I fear I have already detained you from your family. It was the act of a good Samaritan to keep me company so long, and I thank you heartily." "Don't mention it, Sir--don't mention it," said the little man, quite huskily. "I have only done my duty." This courteous sentiment made Richard laugh. "Your duty to your neighbor, eh?" said he. "Well, I must now wish you good-by;" and he held out his hand with a frank smile. "Perhaps we may meet again some day." "Perhaps so, Sir," said the other, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and accompanying him into the hall. At the hotel door Richard called a fly, as it was now raining heavily. "Shall I take you as far as the bank," said he, "since your road home lies that way? or is even that little service contrary to your motto?" "I have got to see to my luggage," answered the other, evasively. "Well, good-by, then." "Good-by."