And on the last day of his engagement he duly fulfilled the promise. He had spat upon a sovereign and donned his jacket, just as before, and he had walked towards the door, but half-way there he stopped and faced his late employer. "Look here," he said, as he quietly divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat, "look ’ere, ole man, you’ve acted very fair to me, and now I’m gointer show ye my pictures." With this preface he removed his shirt. The wondering Baffin was then confronted with a naked chest—a chest of many colours. "The Duchess of Gainsborough," said Mr. Prince. "There’s eight weeks’ work in ’er. Done in Ceylon. I was soldiering in Ceylon. If you look round the corner you will see a picture of Eve bein’ tempted by the serpent. On me right arm there’s ’Erod’s daughter, and on me left a photo of Jim Sayers. ’Ow’s all this for picture work? "I was under the needle for pretty near a twelve-month, and time I left the service there was on’y one man in the battery as could show the ’arf of what I can. I always ’ad a fancy for colour work." The model slowly resumed his clothes. "I love a well-done chest, I do," he said. "Not, mind you, as I am one to turn ’is nose up at a picture on the wall, same’s you might make yesself. Not at all. But me own fancy is for breast and arm work. That has always bin my fancy. "And I look upon you as a very fair and civil-spoken young man, which is why I let you see me. I’m a bit particular ’oo I show my pictures to. I’ll be getting along now. Good-night, sir." On the threshold of the door he paused again. "One more thing, young man. I ain’t the sort of bloke to show me chest around; but you’ve treated me decent, man to man, as the saying goes. And, therefore, if ever the fancy takes you to show me to your friends, why say the word and—’ere I am. "I’ll say good-night now." *XIV* *THREE BABIES* One of the disadvantages attaching to Dr. Brink’s profession is its stay-at-home character. A doctor has not time to travel. And it is a well-known fact that travelling improves the mind. Think, for instance, how my doctor’s mind would relish the improvement associated with a short spell of travel on the London, Tilbury, and Something Railroad! I travelled on this system only yesterday—it is the direct route to Dr. Brink’s—and I protest that one of my fellow-travellers—a baby—was really _most_ improving. This baby came into our compartment head downwards, and advertised his displeasure with this state of things by means at his command. A little pale-faced girl who followed Baby uttered remonstrances, which were answered by the little rickety boy who carried him. I saw and heard these things but vaguely, because our carriage was filled with noise and smell, and its lights were dim. And many people had breathed within it, and the gentlemen about me were smoking shag tobacco.