“Your wine, I’m afraid, has been rather too powerful for this gentleman,” Mr Bunker explained, with a smile. “Look here,” blustered Welsh, “do you know you’ve got a lunatic in the room?” “You can perhaps guess it,” smiled Mr Bunker, indicating Welsh with his eyes. The waiters began to twitter, and Welsh, with an effort, pulled himself together. “My friend here,” he said, “is Dr Twiddel, a well-known practitioner in London. He can tell you that he certified this man as a lunatic, and that he afterwards escaped from his asylum. That is so, Twiddel?” “Yes,” assented Twiddel, whose colour was beginning to come back a little. “Who are you, sare?” asked the proprietor. “Show him your card, Twiddel,” said Welsh, producing his own and handing it over. The proprietor looked at both cards, and then turned to Mr Bunker. “And who are you, sare?” “My name is Mandell-Essington.” “His name——” began Welsh. “Have you a card?” interposed the proprietor. “I am sorry I have not,” replied Mr Bunker (to still call him by the name of his choice). “His name is Francis Beveridge,” said Welsh. “I beg your pardon; it is Mandell-Essington.” “Any other description?” Welsh asked, with a sneer. “A gentleman, I believe.” “No other occupation?” “Not unless you can call a justice of the peace such,” replied Mr Bunker, with a smile. “And yet he disguises himself as a clergyman!” exclaimed Welsh, triumphantly, turning to the proprietor. Mr Bunker saw that he was caught, but he merely laughed, and observed, “My friend here disguises himself in liquor, a much less respectable cloak.” Unfortunately the humour of this remark was somewhat thrown away on his present audience; indeed, coming from a professed clergyman, it produced an unfavourable impression. “You are not a clergyman?” said the proprietor, suspiciously. “I am glad to say I am not,” replied Mr Bunker, frankly. “Den vat do you do in dis dress?” “I put it on as a compliment to the cloth; I retain it at present for decency,” said Mr Bunker, whose tongue had now got a fair start of him. “Mad,” remarked Welsh, confidentially, shrugging his shoulders with really excellent dramatic effect. By this time the audience were disposed to agree with him. “You can give no better account of yourself dan dis?” asked the proprietor. “I am anxious to,” replied Mr Bunker, “but a public restaurant is not the place in which I choose to give it.” “Fetch the cab and the policeman,” said Welsh to a waiter. At this moment another gentleman entered the room, and at the sight of him Mr Bunker’s face brightened, and he stopped the waiter by a cry of, “Wait one moment; here comes a gentleman who knows me.” Everybody turned, and beheld a burly, very fashionably dressed young man, with a fair moustache and a cheerful countenance. “Ach, Bonker!” he cried.