“It ain't my way, Tom Fisk,” said Davis, curtly. “He 'll be at his ease at once when he perceives that you don't intend to rip up old scores; and he 'll be just as delicate with _you_.” “Delicate with me?” cried Grog, bursting out into a fit of immoderate laughter. “Well, if that ain't a good one! I wonder what he is! Do you imagine Fitzroy Kelly is ashamed of being thought a lawyer, or Brodie of being a surgeon? You must be precious soft, my worthy friend, if you suppose that I don't know what the world thinks and says of _me_. No, no, there's no need of what you call delicacy at all. You used to be made of other stuff than this, Tom Fisk. It's keeping company with them snobs of half-pay officers, clerks in the Treasury, and Press reporters-has spoiled you; the demi-gents of the 'Garottaman Club' have ruined hundreds.” “The Garottaman is one of the first clubs in town,” broke in Fisk. “You 're too much like sailors on a raft for my fancy,” said Grog, dryly. “What do you mean by that?” “Just that you are hungry and have got nothing to eat,--you 're eternally casting lots who is to be devoured next! But we 'll not fall out about that. I 've been turning over in my head about this Simmy Hankes, and I 'd like to have an hour in his company, all alone. Could you manage to be out of the way to-morrow morning and leave me to entertain him at breakfast?” “It will suit my book to a trivet, for I want to go over to Barnes to look after a yearling I 've got there, and you can tell Hankes that the colt was taken suddenly ill.” “He 'll not be very curious about the cause of your absence,” said Grog, dryly. “The pleasure of seeing me so unexpectedly will put everything else out of his head.” A grim smile showed the spirit in which he spoke these words. It was now very late, and Davis threw himself on a sofa, with his great-coat over him, and, wishing his friend a goodnight, was soon sound asleep; nor did he awake till aroused by the maid-servant getting the room into readiness and arranging the table for breakfast. Then, indeed, Grog arose and made his toilet for the day,--not a very elaborate nor a very elegant one, but still a disguise such as the most practised detective could not have penetrated, and yet removable in a moment, so that he might, by merely taking off eyebrows and moustaches, become himself at once.