I was a tacit listener, understanding very little of that part of the conversation which related to business, viz.: "Quoting 7-18ths at 223 and sliding 347 and 19 net;" but at length anecdotes and experience took the place of business, and proved intensely amusing. I should have enjoyed the occasion if I could have divested myself of the idea that, as regards my vocation, I was an impostor, with no right to be there. It was evident that the gray man of the "yes" had his suspicions as to my not being a member of the craft. Many glances he directed at me, each accompanied by a muttered "yes." All doubts upon the subject were at length dispelled by a question from the little man in the black-silk waistcoat, Mr. Ruffins, who abruptly inquired: "What is your route from here? Who are your clients?" "I am not here," I replied, "on any particular business, and, to own the truth, gentlemen, I doubt if I have any in this room." "Excuse me, sir, did I not see you on the coach this morning?" "I came by the coach, and shall return with it to-morrow." "Then we shall be fellow-travellers. I leave my trap here, and return to ---- by the coach." The gray man now commenced an anecdote, which I shall give in his own words. [Illustration: "THE COMMERCIAL ROOM?" "YES."] * * * * * "It was in the winter of 1855. I was on the northern circuit, in the midst of a terrific snowfall which buried everything. "At dusk one evening the wind rose and caused the snow to drift in heaps so quickly that I lost the road. My horse became frightened, and I could scarcely induce him to proceed. I did, however, force him on till I came to a small roadside inn, at which the mail changed. "Here I determined to leave my horse and trap and proceed by the coach. It was a fearful night, snow falling thickly, icy cold, and the roads almost impassable. The mail was three hours late, and when it did arrive there was question of the advisability of proceeding farther. I found at the inn a traveller who was storm-staid, and, whilst waiting in the bar-parlour for the arrival of the mail, displayed the most marked impatience, constantly breaking out into ejaculations. "'Oh dear, oh dear! what a disappointment! But if I can't get there I can't. Never was late before--such a lot of people too.' "I tried in vain to reconcile him to the delay. He could do nothing but lament the accident which seemed likely to prevent his keeping his appointment at Durham on the following day. "As we became more intimate I condoled with him, hinting that such anxiety led me to fear that it was a matter of life and death. "'It _is_ a matter of life and death,' he exclaimed. 'If I can't get there in time, I shall be ready to hang myself.'