But after Mr. Pringle had gone, Mr. Scadgers still stood with the bill fluttering between his fingers, muttering to himself: "Sing'ler that! very sing'ler! For years I hadn't seen the Runner until yesterday, when I came across him in Cheapside; and now to-day I hear of him again. I wonder," added Mr. Scadgers, with a very sinister smile, "whether that little account between me and the Runner will ever be wound up? I've owed him one this many a year." CHAPTER XIII. MR. PRESCOTT'S PROCEEDINGS. The Hansom cab conveying Mr. Prescott went at a rapid pace along the Strand, through the Pall-Mall district, and by divers short cuts into Piccadilly. There was nothing to stop it; there were no blocks or stoppages; and as it was the dead season of the year, and every one was out of town, the Commissioners of Sewers were good enough to leave the roads alone; reserving until the traffic was in full play their right to erect gigantic, hideous hoardings in the most crowded thoroughfares. The streets were deserted, the public buildings shut up, dust and straw and dirty paper whirled about in the eddying gusts of the autumnal wind, and the entire appearance of London was dull and wretched. People had evidently been in doubt what to do about dress; and while some were in the faded gaiety of the just-departed summer, others were putting on an even shadier appearance in the creased and awkward garments of the previous winter. The doctors' carriages and the hack-cabs had the thoroughfares to themselves; the occupants of the former, always on the watch for the recognition of some favoured patient, sat back in their vehicles, engaged either in the perusal of some medical work, or in happy day-dreams of increased practice, studs of wearied horses, noble introductions, enormous fees,--all culminating, perhaps, in baronetcies and appointments at Court.