The giggling girl having provided these refreshments, the students fell to, and very soon the order was repeated. The Welshman then collected eleven-pence from each man and paid the score, the extra penny a head being levied as a douceur for the waitress. The students having re-formed in line, the red-haired leader marched them back to Matt’s in the circumspect manner that had characterised their outward journey. At tea-time came another march out and home, and at seven the Welshman conducted his warriors to a restaurant, where, bearing in mind the fragile nature of the two previous meals, he ordered sixteen steaks, sixteen helps of two "veges," sixteen hunks of bread, sixteen tankards of bitter ale, sixteen portions of currant pudding, sixteen slices of cheese, sixteen pats of butter, and sixteen cups of coffee. When they had consumed this homely but satisfying meal, the Welshman again collected the amount necessary to discharge the bill, with twopence extra per diner for the waiter. Then he once more marched his men back to Matt’s, there to deliberate on further proceedings. "Pity the Long ’Un isn’t here," observed Mr Deadwood, in the midst of the discussion; "he was a fellow of great resource and suggestion. Where’s he got to?" "Jim," said the red-haired one, "is earning money for a man named Taplow, once of this hospital. That is the latest news of him, received in September last." "I thank you," said Mr Deadwood, with as much dignity as his discoloured eyes and swollen nose rendered possible; "your reply, friend of the Orange Locks, is direct and lucid, but conveys little information. Speak further, Red Scalp, and put us on his trail!" Mr Deadwood was addicted to the use of highly ornate language. He insulted everybody in terms that were clothed with plumage of a peculiarly offensive nature. "Jim’s new pitch is in Mount Street, Blackfriars," observed a student who had been blessed by nature with beetle brows and very irregular features. "I thank you, Face," said Mr Deadwood, with simple courtesy. The red-haired one moved that they should look Jim up. The motion being agreed upon, the party started off in twos and threes, the Welshman previously directing that Jim was not to be apprised of their visit until all had assembled outside Taplow’s surgery. It was not a very far cry to Mount Street. Arrived there, and perceiving a light in the surgery window, the Welshman turned the handle of the street door and walked in. "Jim’s out," he announced, appearing on the threshold a few moments later; "come on in."