"What's all the noise?" cried some one in the gallery. "Madman, sir, outer the 'sylum, and keepers want to ketch him." "Poor fellow," was the response; and then came the demand for admittance, and the thundering again. "Go away!" cried Mr Smith, in an agitated and very cracked voice. "Go away, there's no one here!" "Ho! ain't there," said the gruff voice; and then there was a suppressed titter. "You're sure it's him?" said another voice. "Oh, yes," said some one in a high treble; "he's got his head shaved." "Right you are," said the same gruff voice, and then Mr Smith turned all of a cold perspiration. "But my good man," he gasped out at last through the keyhole, as he shivered in the dark, "it's all a mistake: I'm not the man." "Now, are you a-going to stash that ere gammon, or am I to come through the door?--that's what I wants to know," growled the voice. "Good heavens! what a position," gasped Mr Smith. "My good man," he cried again, "I'm not mad at all." "Oh, no, of course not; nobody never said you was," said the voice. "It's all right; open the door; it's only me, Grouser, yer know." But Mr Smith _didn't_ know Grouser; neither did he wish to; for he wanted a quiet night's rest, and to go off by the first train; but he resolved to try another appeal. "M-m-m-m-my good man, will you go away, please?" Bump! came a heavy body against the door, making the lock chatter, and the inner partition vibrate. "Go away, please," gasped Mr Smith; "or I'll call the landlord." Bump! came the noise, and then the gruff voice, "Now, you'd best open, my tulip." "Landlord!" screamed Mr Smith. "Yes, sir, I'm here!" cried a fresh voice. "Now, why don't you come quietly, sir; the gentleman only means it for your good, and if you have any money, I hope you'll pay your bill." "He ain't got a blessed halfpenny, bless you," growled the voice of the man Mr Smith took to be the keeper, but he was so confused by waking up from a heavy sleep, that he began to pass his hand over his head, and to wonder whether he really was sane.