"Haystacks" and "old man" were both terms of endearment and familiarity. Mr. Stackborough was about three-and-twenty, very rich, very foolish, and with an irrepressible yearning for what he called "high society." He had chambers in the Albany, splendid horses, a capital yacht, and more clothes than any other man in London. He was always extensively got-up, and never looked like a gentleman. Bobby Maitland, who lived with him and on him, could influence him on everything except his wardrobe--in that matter he always would have his own way. On the present occasion he was elaborately appareled in maritime fashion, dark-blue jacket with gilt buttons, very open white waistcoat, flap shirt-collar, trousers tight to the knee, then loose and flapping, black oilskin-hat with blue ribbon. Mr. Stackborough generally suited his language as far as possible to his style of costume. When that was horsey he talked turf, now he talked sea; consequently he said-- "Ticehurst, eh? Where does he hail from?" "How the deuce should I know!" replied Bobby. "He's only just come in sight." "T'other craft in company, of course?" suggested Mr. Stackborough. "He's always under convoy, his is! T'other craft's close by, I suppose, or at all events in the offing." And Mr. Stackborough peered from under his hand at his friend as though scanning the horizon. "Look here, Haystacks, old man!" said Bobby Maitland thoughtfully; "you must moderate your transports, you must indeed. There's too much of this bold-smuggler business about you--a deal too much. I daresay it's a kind of gaff that takes with some people, but it don't with me, and so you may as well drop it. It isn't good style either; so drop it, old flick, and tell me in the Queen's English what you mean." Mr. Stackborough wriggled uneasily in the maritime suit and blushed. "All right," he said after a minute's pause, "I'll take care. Thank you for telling me, Bobby. What I meant to say was, wasn't Lloyd there? He's always with his, you know." "O, I understand now! No; Ticehurst seems to be by himself for a wonder. No doubt Lloyd's close at hand, though; he never lets my lord go far without him." "Shall we 'bout ship and--I mean, shall we go out and speak to him?" asked Mr. Stackborough. It _was_ so difficult to resist the influence of the maritime garments. "Well, yes; there's no harm," said Bobby, knowing his young friend was dying to speak to and be seen speaking to a recognised "swell."