“Why, so you are!” said Mr. Braddock, completely convinced. He displayed the utmost delight at this re-union. “Mosestraornary coincidence,” he said as he kneaded Sam lovingly about the shoulder. “I was talking to a fellow in the Strand about you only an hour ago.” “Were you, Bradder, old man?” “Yes; nasty ugly-looking fellow. I bumped into him, and he turned round and the very first thing he said was, ‘Do you know Sam Shotter?’ He told me all sorts of interesting things about you too--all sorts of interesting things. I’ve forgotten what they were, but you see what I mean.” “I follow you perfectly, Bradder. What’s become of your hat?” A look of relieved happiness came in to Willoughby Braddock’s face. “Have you got my hat? Where is it?” “I haven’t got your hat.” “You said you had my hat.” “No, I didn’t.” “Oh!” said Mr. Braddock, disappointed. “Well, then, come and have a cuppa coffee.” It was with the feelings of a voyager who after much buffeting comes safely at last to journey’s end that Sam ranged himself alongside the counter which for so long had been but a promised land seen from some distant Mount Pisgah. The two gentlemen of leisure had melted away into the night, but the uniformed man remained, eating seedcake with a touch of bravado. “This gentleman a friend of yours, Sam?” asked Mr. Braddock, having ordered coffee and eggs. “I should say not,” said Sam with aversion. “Why, he thinks the Duke of York has a small clipped moustache!” “No!” said Mr. Braddock, shocked. “He does.” “Man must be a thorough ass.” “Dropped on his head when a baby, probably.” “Better have nothing to do with him,” said Mr. Braddock in a confidential bellow. The meal proceeded on its delightful course. Sam had always been fond of Willoughby Braddock, and the spacious manner in which he now ordered further hard-boiled eggs showed him that his youthful affection had not been misplaced. A gentle glow began to steal over him. The coffee was the kind of which, after a preliminary mouthful, you drink a little more just to see if it is really as bad as it seemed at first, but it was warm and comforting. It was not long before the world appeared very good to Sam. He expanded genially. He listened with courteous attention to Mr. Braddock’s lengthy description of his speech at the Old Wrykynian dinner, and even melted sufficiently to extend an olive branch to the man in uniform. “Looks like rain,” he said affably. “Who does?” asked Mr. Braddock, puzzled. “I was addressing the gentleman behind you,” said Sam. Mr. Braddock looked cautiously over his shoulder. “But are we speaking to him?” he asked gravely. “I thought----” “Oh, yes,” said Sam tolerantly. “I fancy he’s quite a good fellow really. Wants knowing, that’s all.” “What makes you think he looks like rain?” asked Mr. Braddock, interested.