'but his fingers are always at his moustache, and he is the soul of honour and comes from a highly-respectable family.' 'That he does,' adds my grandmother. 'Poor Anthony! He proposed and wished to run away with me, but my family stepped in and prevented him.' 'Very wrong,' says Turk gravely; 'wasn't his family respectable enough for them? The soul of honour!' 'Quite so,' says my grandmother. 'He told me, after I had accepted this child's grandfather' (at this point of my dream I become suddenly a child, in a pinafore), 'that life was valueless to him without me, and that as he had lost me, he would be sure to go to the devil.' 'Did he go?' asks the monkey-man. 'I always found him a man of his word,' replies my grandmother. 'Now attend to me, sir,' cries the monkey-man, in a bullying tone, turning suddenly upon Turk; 'when did you say you first discovered this knob?' 'Last week,' replies Turk, 'when he sat in that chair' (the chair comes into the dream) 'and told me to shampoo him.' 'You were surprised when you felt it?' asks the monkey-man. 'I was,' says Turk, 'and I asked him if he had knocked his head against something. He said, no, that he was born with it.' 'And what was the remark,' continues the monkey-man, levelling a threatening finger at me, 'you made to the prisoner at the bar?' 'I said,' says Turk, 'that that sort of thing runs in families, and that if he had it, his father must have had it before him.' Suddenly, and as if it were quite in the natural order of things, we are all listening to the statement of a new witness who has risen in Turk's place. 'I am an officer in the detective force, and my name is Vinnicombe. From information received, I went to Liverpool, and tracked Anthony Bullpit on board the Prairie Bird, bound for America. "It's no use making a noise about it," I says to him, as I slipped the handcuffs on him; "I want you, Anthony Bullpit. You sha'n't be done out of a voyage across the sea, but Botany Bay's the place as'll suit you best, I should think." Here my grandmother brindles up, 'You're an infamous designing creature,' she screams. 'He is no more guilty than I am.' 'He pleads guilty at all events,' is the detective's reply. 'That is to spite me,' says my grandmother, 'and to prove that he's a man of his word.' Then, by quite an easy transition, the court and the crowd fade away, and my grandmother, I, and the monkey-figure are again in the little parlour, and she is saying to me, 'Your grandfather has much to answer for, child. Mr. Bullpit was transported for twenty-one years. Some wicked people said it was a mercy he wasn't hanged. If he had been, I should never have survived it. Poor Anthony!' 'You would like to have a peep at him, I daresay,' says the monkey-man to me, my grandmother having disappeared; 'come along, I'll show him to you.' And in the same moment we are peeping through the keyhole of Turk West's shop-door at the figure of Mr. Glover, who sits in the chair with his fingers at his lips.