"Never mind where," responded this helpful emissary. "Telms wanted.... Dockeratome?" he finally demanded, after a reflective pause. I called the doctor down to him at that stage; and the doctor helped him to unlock his bosom. We found that old Joe Black and his complicated infirmities were to be found at the "Four Soldiers"—the very house of cheer which had so cheerfully exported us about five minutes ago.... I—I wilted. The doctor smiled. He also put his hat on. When we arrived at the "Four Soldiers" I found myself entering the public-house parlour of that guesthouse a few paces ahead of the doctor. And I also found that a seafaring gentleman with a broken nose had marked my entry. "’Ere’s our little love-child come in again," observed this mariner cheerfully. "Drop Jim a ’int aside the ’ead wiv yere belt-end, Bill." But then—— But then—he saw _the hat_! Bill saw it also. Twenty other merry gentlemen shared also in the vision. And a silence, a sticky silence, thick as treacle, suddenly manifested itself. And we all looked up at the ceiling. There was a hook on the ceiling, and a piece of rope and a man was hanging there, the rope curled round his body and one leg. The man was addressing the world beneath him; and now that the world had grown strangely silent, his words were plain to hear. "Call yerselves _men_," the man was saying, "_I_ call ye caterpillars. Stand by, ye greasy toads, and watch a true man ’ang ’isself. ’Ang ’isself, d’y’ear? ’Ang ’isself. I _will_ ’ang meself. I’ll ’ang meself dead as dogs’ meat, and there’s not a swab in Limus dare stop me. Not one in this room. Not a god-forsaken son of a lady in this room. Not even you, Tom Tinker." Tom Tinker being thus addressed made answer. He happened to be the landlord of the inn, and a regard for his own future caused him to be solicitous for that of the man on the ceiling. "Don’t you be silly, Joe, me lad," he answered. "Don’t you be rash. You’ll regret it, you know; you will that. Come down, now, when I tell ye; come down before ye forget yeself. D’y’ear me? Come down. You’ll make a fool of yeself in a minnit." The man on the ceiling replied to this suggestion by removing a boot and hurling it at the prophet’s head. In so doing, he obtained a view of the solemn countenance and black hat of the doctor. The strained and tragic expression of our gymnast’s visage immediately gave place to one of nervous greeting. "Evenin’, Doctor!" he said. "Evening!" replied the doctor. "Come off that hook." "Whaffor?" demanded the man. "Because I tell you to. Come off, quick." The man began to whimper. "I can’t," he said. "The rope’s broke. ’Ow can I?" "Jump." "Jump?" echoed the man. "Yes," said the doctor, "jump. I’ll catch you. Jump!" The man jumped. We passed out amid a silence more than ever obvious. I remember one thing clearly. The door was held open for me by an effusive, smiling sailor-man—a sailor-man with a broken nose.