“They aren’t so bad,” he admitted. “That large Bristol jar hasn’t any duplicate to my knowledge. Those eight snuff-jars on the third shelf--they’re Dollin’s ware; he used to work for Wimble in Seventeen-Forty--are absolutely unique. Is there any one in the trade now could tell you what ‘Romano’s Hollande’ was? Or ‘Scholten’s’? Here’s a snuff-mull of George the First’s time, and here’s a Louis Quinze--what am I talking of? Treize, Treize, of course--grater for making bran-snuff. They were regular tools of the shop in my grandfather’s day. And who on earth to leave ’em to outside of the British Museum now, _I_ can’t think!” His pipes--I would this were a tale for virtuosi--his amazing collection of pipes was kept in the parlour, and this gave me the privilege of making his wife’s acquaintance. One morning, as I was looking covetously at a jacaranda-wood “cigarro”--_not_ cigar--cabinet with silver lock-plates and drawer-knobs of Spanish work, a wounded Canadian came into the shop and disturbed our happy little committee. “Say,” he began loudly, “are you the right place?” “Who sent you?” Mr. Burges demanded. “A man from Messines. But _that_ ain’t the point! I’ve got no certificates, nor papers--nothin’, you understand. I left my Lodge owin’ ’em seventeen dollars back-dues. But this man at Messines told me it wouldn’t make any odds with _you_.” “It doesn’t,” said Mr. Burges. “We meet to-night at 7 P. M.” The man’s face fell a yard. “Hell!” said he. “But I’m in hospital--I can’t get leaf.” “_And_ Tuesdays and Fridays at 3 P. M.,” Mr. Burges added promptly. “You’ll have to be proved, of course.” “Guess I can get by _that_ all right,” was the cheery reply. “Toosday, then.” He limped off, beaming. “Who might that be?” I asked. “I don’t know any more than you do--except he must be a Brother. London’s full of Masons now. Well! Well! We must do what we can these days. If you’ll come to tea this evening, I’ll take you on to Lodge afterwards. It’s a Lodge of Instruction.” “Delighted. Which is your Lodge?” I said, for up till then he had not given me its name. “‘Faith and Works 5837’--the third Saturday of every month. Our Lodge of Instruction meets nominally every Thursday, but we sit oftener than that now because there are so many Visiting Brothers in town.” Here another customer entered, and I went away much interested in the range of Brother Burges’s hobbies. At tea-time he was dressed as for Church, and wore gold pince-nez in lieu of the silver spectacles. I blessed my stars that I had thought to change into decent clothes.