“What was it?” inquired Miss Bradshaw. “Dreamt you were married,” said Mr. Hills, smiling at her. Miss Bradshaw tossed her head. “Who to, pray?” she inquired. “Me,” said Mr. Hills, simply. “I woke up in a cold perspiration. Halloa! is that Georgie in there? How are you, George? Better?” “I'm all right,” said Mr. Wright, with dignity, as the other hooked the door open with his stick and nodded at him. “Well, why don't you look it?” demanded the lively Mr. Hills. “Have you got your feet wet, or what?” “Oh, be quiet,” said Miss Bradshaw, smiling at him. “Right-o,” said Mr. Hills, dropping into a chair by the counter and caressing his moustache. “But you wouldn't speak to me like that if you knew what a terrible day I've had.” “What have you been doing?” asked the girl. “Working,” said the other, with a huge sigh. “Where's the millionaire? I came round on purpose to have a look at him.” “Him and mother have gone to the Empire?” said Miss Bradshaw. Mr. Hills gave three long, penetrating whistles, and then, placing his cigar with great care on the counter, hid his face in a huge handkerchief. Miss Bradshaw, glanced from him to the frowning Mr. Wright, and then, entering the parlour, closed the door with a bang. Mr. Hills took the hint, and with a somewhat thoughtful grin departed. He came in next evening for another cigar, and heard all that there was to hear about the Empire. Mrs. Bradshaw would have treated him but coldly, but the innocent Mr. Kemp, charmed by his manner, paid him great attention. “He's just like what I was at his age,” he said. “Lively.” “I'm not a patch on you,” said Mr. Hills, edging his way by slow degrees into the parlour. “I don't take young ladies to the Empire. Were you telling me you came over here to get married, or did I dream it?” “'Ark at him,” said the blushing Mr. Kemp, as Mrs. Bradshaw shook her head at the offender and told him to behave himself. “He's a man any woman might be happy with,” said Mr. Hills. “He never knows how much there is in his trousers-pocket. Fancy sewing on buttons for a man like that. Gold-mining ain't in it.” Mrs. Bradshaw shook her head at him again, and Mr. Hills, after apologizing to her for revealing her innermost thoughts before the most guileless of men, began to question Mr. Kemp as to the prospects of a bright and energetic young man, with a distaste for work, in New Zealand. The audience listened with keen attention to the replies, the only disturbing factor being a cough of Mr. Wright's, which became more and more troublesome as the evening wore on. By the time uncle and nephew rose to depart the latter was so hoarse that he could scarcely speak. “Why didn't you tell 'em you had got a letter calling you home, as I told you?” he vociferated, as soon as they were clear of the shop. “I--I forgot it,” said the old man. “Forgot it!” repeated the incensed Mr. Wright. “What did you think I was coughing like that for--fun?”