Now at this moment, my gaze chancing to be turned earthwards, I espied a pair of elegant though very dirty boots that strode us-wards, jingling their spurs in oddly familiar manner; therefore I glanced up, beholding in turn white buckskin breeches, flowered waistcoat, bottle-green coat with twinkling silver buttons, the frill of an ample shirt-front and above, the square, dimpled chin, shapely nose and resolute blue eyes of my uncle George who, flourishing off his hat, advanced towards us, his handsome face beaming in cheery welcome. "Well met, my Lord!" he exclaimed, grasping the ancient person's hand. "You've heard the fight's off?" "Is it, George? I grieve!" "Yes, it seems Jerningham's man Croxton--The 'Thunderbolt'--fell foul of a harmless-looking customer on his way here, and who should it be but Jessamy himself. So they fought there instead of here, and The 'Thunderbolt's' bolt is shot, sir--and that's the dooce of it--the whole thing's a bite!" "Bite indeed, George!" agreed his lordship, shaking white head until his shabby hat toppled. "Though, to be sure, my money is on Jessamy. But indeed the affair slipped my memory--old age, George! However, Fortune was so kind as to send me this young gentleman, a youth of remarkably sound ideas, Sir George; his conception of the ethics of music, for instance--" My uncle George glanced at me, stared, uttered an unintelligible sound and fell back, gaping. "How are you, Uncle George!" said I, and removing my shapeless hat, I bowed. "Ha?" exclaimed his lordship. "You would seem to be acquainted with each other! Pray, George, have the goodness to introduce us." "My lord, this--this is my nephew, Peregrine--young dog--" "What, poor Jack's boy?" "The same, sir. Peregrine, his lordship, the Earl of Wyvelstoke. Nephew Peregrine took it into his head to see the world, sir--and this is how he does it!" "Admirable!" exclaimed his lordship. "Indeed, Mr. Vereker, should you protract your stay in these parts, I shall hope to repeat the pleasure of this afternoon and hear more of your musical concepts. Good-bye t' ye, George!" And limping to a light carriage that stood adjacent, the slender, shabby figure climbed in with the aid of the assiduous Atkinson, and drove away. "Well, upon my soul, Peregrine," exclaimed my uncle, removing his hat to ruffle his brown curls, "a precious pickle you look, b'gad! Where in the world--what under heaven--your breeches, Perry--that unspeakable--if only Julia could see you now. Oh, the dooce!" Such were his more or less coherent expressions as his astonished gaze took in the various items of my appearance. Then all at once he laughed and down came his great hands upon my shoulders. "B'gad, Perry, I love ye for 'em, lad; dooce take me if I don't!" he exclaimed. "Those breeches now--where did you find 'em?" "Sir, they were bestowed by one Galloping Jerry, a highwayman."