Presently he was awakened by some intermeddlement with his feet. Starting to his elbow, he saw one of the two men in the act of slyly slipping off his right boot, while the left one, already removed, lay on the floor, all ready against the rascal’s retreat Had it not been for the lesson learned on the Pont Neuf, Israel would instantly have inferred that his secret mission was known, and the operator some designed diplomatic knave or other, hired by the British Cabinet, thus to lie in wait for him, fume him into slumber with tobacco, and then rifle him of his momentous dispatches. But as it was, he recalled Doctor Franklin’s prudent admonitions against the indulgence of premature suspicions. “Sir,” said Israel very civilly, “I will thank you for that boot which lies on the floor, and, if you please, you can let the other stay where it is.” “Excuse me,” said the rascal, an accomplished, self-possessed practitioner in his thievish art; “I thought your boots might be pinching you, and only wished to ease you a little.” “Much obliged to ye for your kindness, sir,” said Israel; “but they don’t pinch me at all. I suppose, though, you think they wouldn’t pinch _you_ either; your foot looks rather small. Were you going to try ’em on, just to see how they fitted?” “No,” said the fellow, with sanctimonious seriousness; “but with your permission I should like to try them on, when we get to Dover. I couldn’t try them well walking on this tipsy craft’s deck, you know.” “No,” answered Israel, “and the beach at Dover ain’t very smooth either. I guess, upon second thought, you had better not try ’em on at all. Besides, I am a simple sort of a soul—eccentric they call me—and don’t like my boots to go out of my sight. Ha! ha!” “What are you laughing at?” said the fellow testily. “Odd idea! I was just looking at those sad old patched boots there on your feet, and thinking to myself what leaky fire-buckets they would be to pass up a ladder on a burning building. It would hardly be fair now to swop my new boots for those old fire-buckets, would it?” “By plunko!” cried the fellow, willing now by a bold stroke to change the subject, which was growing slightly annoying; “by plunko, I believe we are getting nigh Dover. Let’s see.” And so saying, he sprang up the ladder to the deck. Upon Israel following, he found the little craft half becalmed, rolling on short swells almost in the exact middle of the channel. It was just before the break of the morning; the air clear and fine; the heavens spangled with moistly twinkling stars. The French and English coasts lay distinctly visible in the strange starlight, the white cliffs of Dover resembling a long gabled block of marble houses. Both shores showed a long straight row of lamps. Israel seemed standing in the middle of the crossing of some wide stately street in London. Presently a breeze sprang up, and ere long our adventurer disembarked at his destined port, and directly posted on for Brentford.