“Yes, a person. A--ahem--a friend. We thought him dead. I hope it is the same man. In England, did you say?” “Yes, Birmingham,” answered Peter. “It must be Birmingham in England.” “I know the man,” said Ben, addressing Lambert. “His factory is not four miles from our place. A queer fellow--still as an oyster--doesn’t seem at all like an Englishman. I’ve often seen him--a solemn-looking chap, with magnificent eyes. He made a beautiful writing case once for me to give Jenny on her birthday. Makes pocketbooks, telescope cases, and all kinds of leatherwork.” As this was said in English, Van Mounen of course translated it for the benefit of all concerned, noticing meanwhile that neither Raff nor his vrouw looked very miserable, though Raff was trembling and the dame’s eyes were swimming with tears. You may believe that the doctor heard every word of the story, when later in the evening he came driving back with Hans. “The three young gentlemen have been gone some time,” Dame Brinker said, “but like enough, by hurrying, it would be easy to find them coming out from the lecture, wherever that was.” “True,” said Raff, nodding his head. “The vrouw always hits upon the right thing. It would be well to see the young English gentleman, mynheer, before he forgets all about Thomas Higgs. It’s a slippery name, d’ye see? One can’t hold it safe a minute. It come upon me sudden and strong as a pile driver, and my boy writ it down. Aye, mynheer, I’d haste to talk with the English lad. He’s seen your son many a time--only to think on’t!” Dame Brinker took up the thread of the discourse. “You’ll pick out the lad quick enough, mynheer, because he’s in company with Peter van Holp, and his hair curls up over his forehead like foreign folk’s, and if you hear him speak, he talks of big and fast, only it’s English, but that wouldn’t be any hindrance to your honor.” The doctor had already lifted his hat to go. With a beaming face he muttered something about its being just like the young scamp to give himself a rascally English name, called Hans “my son,” thereby making that young gentleman as happy as a lord, and left the cottage with very little ceremony, considering what a great meester he was. The grumbling coachman comforted himself by speaking his mind as he drove back to Amsterdam. Since the doctor was safely stowed away in the coach and could not hear a word, it was a fine time to say terrible things of folks who hadn’t no manner of feeling for nobody, and who were always wanting the horses a dozen times of a night. Mysterious Disappearance of Thomas Higgs Higgs’s factory was a mine of delight for the gossips of Birmingham. It was a small building but quite large enough to hold a mystery. Who the proprietor was, or where he came from none could tell. He looked like a gentleman, that was certain, though everybody knew he had risen from an apprenticeship, and he could handle his pen like a writing master.