"Certainly, Sir," replied my valued acquaintance, and before I had closed the hall door, the sounds of the rumbling sticks told me that he had already commenced to remove the superfluous soot from the culinary smoke-hole. I had rather an arduous day at Pump-Handle Court. I had quite an accumulation of circulars, and a consent brief that required very careful attention. The latter was not endorsed with my name, but I saw to it on behalf of a colleague. After I had spent some hours in the little frequented (during the vacation) realms of the Temple, I returned to Justinian Gardens, which I need scarcely tell an experienced cabman is in the neighbourhood of that continually rising locality--Earl's Court. The door was opened by Mr. WILKINS in person, who anticipated the turning of the proprietorial latch-key. "I am sorry to say, Sir," said my trusted _employé_, "that I have had an accident. While I was dusting the military enlistment card----" "You mean my commission?" "I do, Sir. It came down with a run. You see, Sir, you have had him rather heavily framed. Unfortunately, Sir, when I passed the polish brush over him the nail did not hold, and it gave suddenly. The picture made a nasty mark on the wall, and smashed up when he got to the flooring. I would have reframed him, but all the shops close early on a Thursday, and I can get no glass." "Well, what have you done?" I asked, in a tone of some annoyance, for I pride myself on my commission, and am proud of showing it to my friends. "Well, Sir, I went up to the box-room to see if I could find anything that would do, and have looked up an affair that I think will meet with your approval." By this time I had reached the place where the wall was damaged. The spot was covered by a picture. "I did my best, Sir. I washed the canvas with soap and water, and put the polishing brush over the frame. Of course the subject ain't worth much, but for a stop-gap it isn't bad. Now is it?" I then found that Mr. WILKINS had hidden the faulty hall paper with the picture that had been presented to me by the gentleman who had raised a claim to the throne of the Celestial Empire. Secretly pleased that I could now have an opportunity of referring to the gratitude of my client to my learned and distinguished friend, APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., who had promised to dine with me that evening, I readily accepted the apologies of the penitent WILKINS. "I will put it allright to-morrow, Sir," said my distressed _employé_. "I will get some glass, fix up your enlistment card, and have it done before I rebuild the pantry and whitewash the ceiling of the bath-room." Satisfied with the promise I thought no more of the _contretemps_ until after dinner, when my attention was directed to it by APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., who had made himself vastly agreeable after the ladies had retired and left us to discuss the chestnuts and the port. "Hullo, BRIEFLESS," he exclaimed; "where did you get that Old BOOTS?"