I told my story of the grateful client, and young BANDS, who I fancy is thinking of reading in my chambers, regarded me (I venture to believe) with increased respect. "Bless me, you have a treasure!" continued APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C., who seemed wrapt in admiration. "That is a genuine Old BOOTS. You can always tell him from Young BOOTS by the manipulation of his animal's ears. Look at those, Sir! Splendid! Why, who could paint a donkey like that? By Jove, BRIEFLESS, you are in luck! You ought to make a fortune out of it at CHRISTIES!" "Why, is it very valuable?" I asked. "I am not much of an art connoisseur, and I frankly confess I know very little of Old SHOES." "Old BOOTS, Sir!" cried APPLEBLOSSOM, Q.C. "Why I thought all the world knew Old BOOTS! One of the grandest painters of the eighteenth century! He got that particular delicacy of touch which you can trace in that donkey's ears by never commencing to paint his animals until he was recovering from _delirium tremens_. Why, Sir, that animal is simply superb. Look at his mane, Sir! Why, it is simply marvellous!" I did look at the donkey's ears and mane, and, with the assistance of young BANDS, went into an ecstasy. The ears of the animal were certainly magnificent. I must admit I was excited during the rest of that eventful evening. I determined to keep the secret of my good fortune to myself. I thought I would surprise the lady who does me the honour to bear my name, by telling her that I had become a rich man after I had cashed the cheque I was sure to receive. All the following day I made plans for the spending of my fortune. I would have a box in the Highlands, a _pied-à-terre_ in Paris, and a pyramid in Egypt. I would present my Inn with a massive gold snuff-box, and PORTINGTON should have a silver-mounted meerschaum. If my age did not bar my progress, I would seek service in the Militia--as a lieutenant-colonel. There was no limit to my ambition. When I returned, Mr. WILKINS (who is thoroughly conscientious), having finished the rebuilding of the pantry and the whitewashing of the bath-room, had departed. He does not waste his time, and only charges me for the hours he actually expends in honest labour. I hurried to the spot where my Old BOOTS was temporarily resting before removal to the far-famed auction-rooms in King Street, St. James's. I turned pale. "Why, what is this?" I asked, trembling with emotion. "Your commission, dear," said my better seven-eighths. "It looks better than the picture, although I must say the donkey improves on acquaintance. It really was very well painted. I am quite sorry Mr. WILKINS has taken it away." "WILKINS taken it away?" I gasped out. "Yes. He said that you didn't seem to care for it, so he went off to try and sell it." "Why!" I exclaimed, and my voice, through my deep emotion, dropped almost to a whisper, "it is an Old BOOTS!"