the fiddler exasperated him) by simply asking of him some substantial service. Mr. Vetch had never once refused. It was satisfactory to Hyacinth to remember as much when knocking at his door late, after allowing him time to come home from the theatre. He knew his habits: he never went straight to bed, but sat by his fire an hour, smoking his pipe, mixing a grog and reading some old book. Hyacinth could tell when to go up by the light in his window, which he could see from a court behind. “Oh, I know I haven’t been to see you for a long time,” he said in response to the remark with which his neighbour greeted him; “and I may as well tell you immediately what has brought me at present—in addition to the desire to ask after your health. I want to take a young lady to the theatre.” Mr. Vetch was habited in a tattered dressing-gown; his apartment smelt strongly of the liquor he was consuming. Divested of his evening-gear he looked to our hero so plucked and blighted as on the spot to settle his claims in the event of a social liquidation; he too was unmistakably a creditor. “I’m afraid you find your young lady rather expensive.” “I find everything expensive,” said Hyacinth as if to finish that subject. “Especially, I suppose, your secret societies.” “What do you mean by that?” the young man asked with a fine stare. “Why, you told me in the autumn that you were just about to join a few.” “A few? How many do you suppose?” But our friend checked himself. “Do you suppose if I had been serious I’d tell?” “Oh dear, oh dear!” sighed Mr. Vetch. Then he went on: “You want to take her to my shop, eh?” “I’m sorry to say she won’t go there. She wants something in the Strand: that’s a great point. She wants very much to see _The Pearl of Paraguay_. I don’t wish to pay anything, if possible; I’m sorry to say I haven’t a penny. But as you know people at the other theatres and I’ve heard you say that you do each other little favours from place to place, _à charge de revanche_, it occurred to me you might be able to get me an order. The piece has been running a long time and most people (except poor devils like me) must have seen it: therefore there probably isn’t a rush.” Mr. Vetch listened in silence and presently said: “Do you want a box?” “Oh no; something more modest.” “Why not a box?” asked the fiddler in a tone the youth knew. “Because I haven’t the clothes people wear in that sort of place,—if you must have such a definite reason.” “And your young lady—has _she_ the clothes?” “Oh, I daresay; she seems to have everything.” “Where does she get ’em?” “Oh, I don’t know. She belongs to a big shop; she has to be fine.” “Won’t you have a pipe?” Mr. Vetch asked, pushing an old tobacco-pouch across the table; and while the young man helped himself he puffed a while in silence. “What will she do with you?” he finally asked. “What will who do with me?” “Your big beauty—Miss Henning. I know all about her from Pinnie.”