“They must have stared to see you bring five pound in a lump, George, my dear!” said the hunchback. “Was it wise, do you think?” “Gearge bean’t such a vool as a looks,” replied the miller’s man. “A took good care to change it first, Cheap John, and a put it in by bits.” “You’re a clever customer, George,” said his friend. “Well, my dear? First, the five-pound bill, and then?” George looked puzzled, and then, suddenly, angry. “What be that to you?” he asked, and forthwith relapsed into a sulky fit, from which the Cheap Jack found it impossible to rouse him. All attempts to renew the subject, or to induce the miller’s man to talk at all, proved fruitless. The Cheap Jack insisted, however, on taking a friendly leave. “Good-by, my dear,” said he, “till the mop. You knows my place in the town, and I shall expect you.” The miller’s man only replied by a defiant nod, which possibly meant that he would come, but had some appearance of expressing only a sarcastic wish that the Cheap Jack might see him on the occasion alluded to. In obedience to a yell from its master, the white horse now started forward, and it is not too much to say that the journey to town was not made more pleasant for the poor beast by the fact that the Cheap Jack had a good deal of long-suppressed fury to vent upon somebody. It was perhaps well for the bones of the white horse that, just as they entered the town, the Cheap Jack brushed against a woman on the narrow foot-path, who having turned to remonstrate in no very civil terms, suddenly checked herself, and said in a low voice, “Juggling Jack!” The dwarf started, and looked at the woman with a puzzled air. She was a middle-aged woman, in the earlier half of middle age; she was shabbily dressed, and had a face that would not have been ill-looking, but that the upper lip was long and cleft, and the lower one unusually large. As the Cheap Jack still stared in silence, she burst into a noisy laugh, saying, “More know Jack the Fool than Jack the Fool knows.” But, even as she spoke, a gleam of recognition suddenly spread over the hunchback’s face, and, putting out his hand, he said, “Sal! _you here_, my dear?” “The air of London don’t agree with me just now,” was the reply; “and how are you, Jack?” “The country air’s just beginning to disagree with me, my dear,” said the hunchback; “but I’m glad to see you, Sal. Come in here, my dear, and let’s have a talk, and a little refreshment.” The place of refreshment to which the dwarf alluded was another public-house, the White Horse by name. There was no need to bid the Cheap Jack’s white horse to pause here; he stopped of himself at every public-house; nineteen times out of twenty to the great convenience of his master, for which he got no thanks; the twentieth time the hunchback did not want to stop, and he was lavish of abuse of the beast’s stupidity in coming to a standstill.