A little amused even through the utter dissatisfaction with himself and vague loneliness that had suddenly come upon him, Islington, as he walked toward the lodge, asked, “Why isn't he a gent? “No gent--beggin' your pardin, sir--'ud guy a man in sarvis, sir. Takes me 'ands so, sir, as I sits in the rumble at the gate, and puts 'em downd so, sir, and sez, 'Put 'em in your pocket, young man,--or is it a road agint you expects to see, that you 'olds hup your 'ands, hand crosses 'em like to that,' sez he. ''Old 'ard,' sez he, 'on the short curves, or you'll bust your precious crust,' sez he. And hasks for you, sir. This way, sir.” They entered the lodge. Islington hurried down the long Gothic hall, and opened the library door. In an arm-chair, in the centre of the room, a man sat apparently contemplating a large, stiff, yellow hat with an enormous brim, that was placed on the floor before him. His hands rested lightly between his knees, but one foot was drawn up at the side of his chair in a peculiar manner. In the first glance that Islington gave, the attitude in some odd, irreconcilable way suggested a brake. In another moment he dashed across the room, and, holding out both hands, cried, “Yuba Bill!” The man rose, caught Islington by the shoulders, wheeled him round, hugged him, felt of his ribs like a good-natured ogre, shook his hands violently, laughed, and then said, somewhat ruefully, “And how ever did you know me?” Seeing that Yuba Bill evidently regarded himself as in some elaborate disguise, Islington laughed, and suggested that it must have been instinct. “And you?” said Bill, holding him at arm's length, and surveying him critically,--“you!--toe think--toe think--a little cuss no higher nor a trace, a boy as I've flicked outer the road with a whip time in agin, a boy ez never hed much clothes to speak of, turned into a sport!” Islington remembered, with a thrill of ludicrous terror, that he still wore his evening dress. “Turned,” continued Yuba Bill, severely,--“turned into a restyourant waiter,--a garsong! Eh, Alfonse, bring me a patty de foy grass and an omelette, demme!” “Dear old chap!” said Islington, laughing, and trying to put his hand over Bill's bearded mouth, “but you--YOU don't look exactly like yourself! You're not well, Bill.” And indeed, as he turned toward the light, Bill's eyes appeared cavernous, and his hair and beard thickly streaked with gray. “Maybe it's this yer harness,” said Bill, a little anxiously. “When I hitches on this yer curb” (he indicated a massive gold watch-chain with enormous links), “and mounts this 'morning star,'” (he pointed to a very large solitaire pin which had the appearance of blistering his whole shirt-front), “it kinder weighs heavy on me, Tommy. Otherwise I'm all right, my boy,--all right.” But he evaded Islington's keen eye, and turned from the light. “You have something to tell me, Bill,” said Islington, suddenly, and with almost brusque directness; “out with it.”