"Devilish hot!" said Mr. Pringle, a short, good-humoured-looking young man, laying down his _Times_ and opening his waistcoat; "devilish hot! Crump, there's a good fellow, open the door." Mr. Crump looked up from his work, and said appealingly, "I've got a st--a st--a st--" he would have said "stiff neck;" but long before he could reach the word, Pringle interrupted him-- "Strong hand; you've got a strong hand, I know, and the door sticks; that's why I asked you. Boppy, my boy, I've not yet had time to ask you how you are." "Well, Pm well in health, thank you, Mr. Pringle," said Mr. Boppy, depositing his pen on the desk, and rubbing his bald forehead; "but I'm rather worried in my mind." "What troubles my Boppy? Has the Bank reduced its rate of discount, so that my Boppy's ingots are not worth quite so much per cent as they were yesterday; or is it love that is sending him to grief? Has my Boppy been sporting with Amaryllis in the shady side of Brompton Row, and has Mrs. B. found it out? Oh, Bop!" "Nonsense, Mr. Pringle! I--" "I must say that such remarks as those," interrupted Mr. Dibb, "appear to me to be very bad jokes." "Very likely, Mr. Dibb," retorted Pringle; "but that's because you're the quintessence of humour yourself. We can't all hope to make ourselves as thoroughly genial and pleasant as you--can we, Crump?" "I d--decline to s--to s--to say--" "To say ditto to Dibb! Of course: you're my friend, and I knew you'd never desert me. Now, Boppy, you were about to say something when you were interrupted in that gentlemanly manner by our friend J. Miller; what was it?" "Oh, I was merely thinking that I'd try and take that dog home this afternoon, and I'm rather doubtful as to how my wife will receive it, You see, I bought him a week ago, and Simmons, the hall-porter here, has kept him for me in the coal-cellar since then. He's a white Pomeranian dog, and the coal-cellar don't suit him somehow; but I daren't take him to Putney until I'd somewhat prepared Mrs. B.'s mind. So last night I read her several anecdotes of dogs, where they were all faithful and friendly and clean, you know; and this afternoon I shall take Spitz home, and--and say you gave him to me, I think, Mr. Pringle, if you've no objection." "Certainly, if you like it, I don't mind; any thing you please, Boppy, my boy. Dogs as many as you like, and things of that sort; only, if Mrs. B. ever finds white-kid gloves, or locks of hair, or patchouli-scented pink notes, don't say they come from me--you understand? By the way, that reminds me. Prescott! p'st! Prescott!" A tall, good-looking man of two or three-and-twenty, who was leaning his head on one hand and staring out of the window, turned round and said dreamily, "What?" "What an amusing companion you are!" said Mr. Pringle; "what a charming remark that was when you last spoke, an hour and twenty minutes ago! What was it?" "Don't be an idiot, Pringle!"