He was in London now, and Kavanagh wished he was not, for he did not want consolation, advice, or offer of help. He knew that he had to work out this business for himself, and the less said the better. Royce was not in now, that was one consolation. Kavanagh went up to his room, and began overhauling his clothes. He selected an old pair of corduroy trousers which he had used for shooting, with a coat and waistcoat which had been worn with them, and a pair of boots bought in the country ready-made, on an occasion when he had been obliged, by an accident to his wardrobe, to supply himself in a hurry. A much-worn check shirt, with collar attached, and a black silk handkerchief, with a pair of worsted socks, completed the lot of clothes which he laid upon the bed, and for which he then changed what things he had on. These he packed up with all his other clothes in several portmanteaus and carpet bags. He next placed his tall hat away in its box, and, having completed these arrangements, put on a wideawake, went out, and called a four-wheeler. Then he went upstairs again, and returned with a tin uniform-case on one shoulder and a portmanteau in his hand. It took him three trips to bring all his goods down and stow them on and in the cab. When at last he had accomplished it, he was stopped as he drove off by one of the officials, who said-- "Halloa, my man, where are you off to with Mr Kavanagh's luggage?" "I am Mr Kavanagh," he replied. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the man, touching his hat, as he recognised him. It was not very far that he took the cab, only across to Holywell Street, where he stopped at an old clothes shop, and dismissed the astonished cabby, after having carried all the luggage inside, a young man with a hooked nose helping him quite as a matter of course. "Now, then," said Kavanagh, "what are you going to give me for all these things, clothes, uniform, portmanteaus, cases, and all. Of course they will go dirt cheap, but don't overdo it, or I shall call a cab and go on to the next establishment. I don't mind the trouble of packing up again." "Theresh no one in the street gives so good a prish as me," said the man, turning over the different articles, and beginning to depreciate them. There was no sale for uniforms; those shirts were thin in the back; that coat was too big for most customers, and so forth. Kavanagh cut him short-- "I don't want to know all that; come to the point, and say what you will give for the lot." "What do you ask?" counter-responded the Jew. "Twenty pounds; and that's an alarming sacrifice." "Twenty pounds! Did any one ever hear the like! Twenty pounds for old clothes!" "Why, you would sell the portmanteaus and tin cases alone for ten, and that overcoat for three." "You think so, my tear young man? Tear, tear, how little you know of the trade! I'll give you five pounds for the lot, and then I doubt if I shall make any profit," and the dealer looked determined.