"I should but interrupt your worthier meditations, sir," said the other; "besides, I am a modest young man, and think myself fit for no better company than my own--moreover, I walk slow--very slow.--Good morning to you, Mr. A--A--I believe my treacherous memory has let slip your name, sir." "My name!--Why your memory must have been like Pat Murtough's greyhound, that let the hare go before he caught it. You never heard my name in your life. Touchwood is my name. What d'ye think of it, now you know it?" "I am really no connoisseur in surnames," answered Jekyl: "and it is quite the same to me whether you call yourself Touchwood or Touchstone. Don't let me keep you from walking on, sir. You will find breakfast far advanced at the Well, sir, and your walk has probably given you an appetite." "Which will serve me to luncheon-time, I promise you," said Touchwood; "I always drink my coffee as soon as my feet are in my pabouches--it's the way all over the East. Never trust my breakfast to their scalding milk-and-water at the Well, I assure you; and for walking slow, I have had a touch of the gout." "Have you," said Jekyl; "I am sorry for that; because, if you have no mind to breakfast, I have--and so, Mr. Touchstone, good-morrow to you." But, although the young soldier went off at double quick time, his pertinacious attendant kept close by his side, displaying an activity which seemed inconsistent with his make and his years, and talking away the whole time, so as to show that his lungs were not in the least degree incommoded by the unusual rapidity of motion. "Nay, young gentleman, if you are for a good smart walk, I am for you, and the gout may be d--d. You are a lucky fellow to have youth on your side; but yet, so far as between the Aultoun and the Well, I think I could walk you for your sum, barring running--all heel and toe--equal weight, and I would match Barclay himself for a mile." "Upon my word, you are a gay old gentleman!" said Jekyl, relaxing his pace; "and if we must be fellow-travellers, though I can see no great occasion for it, I must even shorten sail for you." So saying, and as if another means of deliverance had occurred to him, he slackened his pace, took out a morocco case of cigars, and, lighting one with his _briquet_, said, while he walked on, and bestowed as much of its fragrance as he could upon the face of his intrusive companion, "Vergeben sie, mein herr--ich bin erzogen in kaiserlicher dienst--muss rauchen ein kleine wenig."[II-6] "Rauchen sie immer fort," said Touchwood, producing a huge meerschaum, which, suspended by a chain from his neck, lurked in the bosom of his coat, "habe auch mein pfeichen--Sehen sie den lieben topf!"[II-7] and he began to return the smoke, if not the fire, of his companion, in full volumes, and with interest.