“You pledge your honor, Sir Thomas, that you will get me the magistracy? A' know you can if you set about it. A' declare to God, Sir Thomas, a' will never have a happy day unless I'm able to write J. P. after my name. A' can think of nothing else. And, Sir Thomas, listen to me; my friends--a' mean my relations--poor, honest, contemptible creatures, are all angry with me, because a' changed my name to Crackenfudge.” “But what has this to do with the history of the fellow in the inn?” replied Sir Thomas. “With respect to the change of your name, I have been given to understand that your relations have been considerably relieved by it.” “How, Sir Thomas?” “Because they say that they escape the disgrace of the connection; but, as for myself,” added the baronet, with a peculiar sneer, “I don't pretend to know anything about the matter--one way or other. But let it pass, however; and now for your intelligence.” “But you didn't pledge your honor that you would get me the magistracy.” “If,” said. Sir Thomas, “the information you have to communicate be of the importance I expect, I pledge my honor, that whatever man can do to serve you in that matter, I will. You know I cannot make magistrates at my will--I am not the lord chancellor.” “Well, then, Sir Thomas, to make short work of it, the fellow's name is Harry Hedles. He was clerk to the firm of Grinwell and Co., the great tooth-brush manufacturers--absconded with some of their cash, came over here, and smuggled himself, in the shape of a gentleman, into respectable families; and a'm positively informed, that he has succeeded in seducing the affections, and becoming engaged to the daughter and heiress of a wealthy baronet.” The look which Sir Thomas turned upon Crackenfudge made the cowardly caitiff tremble. “Harkee, Mr. Crackenfudge,” said he; “did you hear the name of the baronet, or of his daughter?” “A' did not, Sir Thomas; the person that told me was ignorant of this himself.” “May I ask who your informant was, Mr. Crackenfudge?” “Why, Sir Thomas, a half mad fellow, named Fenton, who said that he saw this vagabond at an establishment in England conducted by a brother of this Grinwell's.” The baronet paused for a moment, but the expression which took possession of his features was one of the most intense interest that could be depicted on the human countenance; he fastened his eyes upon Crackenfudge, as if he would have read the very soul within him, and by an effort restrained himself so far as to say, with forced composure, “Pray, Mr. Crackenfudge, what kind of a person is this Fenton, whom you call half-mad, and from whom you had this information?” Crackenfudge described Fenton, and informed Sir Thomas that in the opinion of the people he was descended of a good family, though neglected and unfortunate. “But,” he added, “as to who he really is, or of what family, no one can get out of him. He's close and cunning.”