He had an office in the City: but were any of his friends to ask, “What _is_ Styles?” the answer would be a vague generality--such as, “Oh! he is a City man, you know--engaged in business and all that!”--a reply leaving the enquirer just as wise as he was before. And yet, at his office, there were all the symptoms and evidence of “business,”--a letter-box at the door--a clerk engaged in writing at the desk--a pile of letters here, and a heap of account-books there--samples of many kinds of goods on the mantel and shelves--mysterious-looking bales and hampers on the floor--files covered with dingy papers, looking like invoices and bills of lading--and the words _Bills for Acceptance_ labelled over a slit in the board-work that enclosed the desk. Thus the place had a very business-like aspect: and yet no one could define what was the precise nature of the business carried on there. But we have travelled to Mr. Bubbleton Styles’s office in Crosby Hall Chambers; whereas Mr. Bubbleton Styles himself is just now in a tavern-parlour in Fleet Street. The clock had just _begun_ to strike three as Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Frank Curtis entered the public-house: and by the time they reached the aforesaid parlour it was six seconds _past_ three. There sate Mr. Bubbleton Styles--with his silver watch in his hand, and gazing at the Dutch clock over the mantel-piece, as if he were anxiously comparing the two dials, and found himself much put out because there happened to be a slight difference between them. “If I thought it was my watch that was wrong,” he said aloud, apparently in a musing manner, but really because he caught a glimpse of the entrance of Curtis and Blunderbuss at the moment, and he never lost an opportunity of impressing even his best friends with an idea of his punctuality,--“if I thought it was my watch that was wrong, I would trample it to pieces beneath my heel.” “No--don’t do that, old fellow!” exclaimed Frank, advancing towards him. “Much better give it to me!” “I would not do any thing so prejudicial to a friend as present him with a watch that went irregularly,” returned Mr. Styles, in a solemn tone. “But the fault is _not_ with my watch, I am convinced: it lies with that rascally old clock. However, you are only six seconds after your time: I should have allowed you the full minute--and then I should have waited no longer. Come, sit down, Curtis--Captain O’Blunderbuss, sit down; I have just one hour to devote to you. As the clock strikes four, I must be off. What will you take?” “Potheen for me, if ye plaze,” said the gallant officer. “Brandy for me,” observed Frank. “And wine-and-water for me,” added Mr. Bubbleton Styles. “I never take spirits until after supper.” The various beverages required, were immediately ordered and supplied; and the three gentlemen proceeded to business, the parlour at the tavern--or rather public-house--being occupied only by themselves at the moment.