“I am disturbed to learn that Mr. Gomer has interested himself in Wilton’s favour. That fact tells rather against my interests. He is a singular man is Mr. Gomer.” “Sing’lar, sir,” echoed Chewkle; “he’s as yallar as a canary; he’s everywhere at once, and people says he’s as rich as ‘creeses,’ though why _they_ should be called rich I never could understand, unless it is they grows in profusion, an’ you get ’em at six bunches a penny.” “He is a very extraordinary man,” said Grahame, musingly; “a very extraordinary man--enormously wealthy. I fear the man--I fear him. I don’t know why, but I feel terrified in his presence, and I shudder when I think of him.” “He is orful hugly, and that is the truth,” observed Chewkle, emphatically, adding, “don’t talk about him, sir, or I’m blow’d if you won’t find him at your elber. Shouldn’t be surprised to see him walk out o’ the dark at the end of the room there.” “Pshaw!” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, with a slight shudder, as Chewkle jerked his thumb over his left shoulder to the part of the room then in shadow. To confess the truth, he would not have been surprised, though he might have been appalled, to have seen the apparition of Nathan Gomer in the spot pointed out, but he would not appear to acknowledge so much to Chewkle. He finished the superscription of the note, and handed it to his agent, saying-- “You will deliver this to the principal of the firm, and I presume I may expect you here about ten tomorrow morning?” “It will all depend upon what time the principal comes to business in the morning, sir,” answered, Chewkle, “but I shall be there afore the postman, and I’ll have the deed safe enough, depend on it.” “Of course it was this business alone that induced you to come here to-night?” inquired Mr. Grahame, almost fearing to ask, in case there might be further unpleasant communications for him to receive. “Nothen’ else, sir,” returned Chewkle, although the bank note was the principal occasion of his visit. “When I learned the news about Wilton, I thought it my duty to lose no time in letting you know--knowing what I knowed, you know.” “Yes, yes, yes--quite right--you did quite right,” observed Grahame, hastily. “Let me see you with the deed as early as you can in the morning. Good night, Chewkle.” Mr. Grahame rang for Whelks as he spoke, and was promptly answered by the immediate appearance of his man, who had applied his ear to the keyhole with most persevering zeal, in the hope to unravel the mystery of Chewkle’s audiences with his proud and haughty master, but he had caught nothing--but the ear-ache, which subsequently took him for a walk up and down his bedroom all night, to the doctor’s in the morning, afterwards to Covent Garden Market for poppy heads, and subsequently it treated itself to scorching flannel, blistering fermentations, and applications of hot and cold vinegar, until Whelks was nearly pickled.