The new-comer stopped abruptly, and, gazing in astonishment at the extraordinary combination of man and chair before him, retired a few paces in disorder. At a little distance he had mistaken the cook for a lover of nature, communing with it at his ease; now he was undecided whether it was a monstrosity or an apparition. “Mornin’, mate,” said the cook in a weary voice. “Morning,” said the man, backing still more. “I ’spose,” said the cook, trying to smile cheerfully, “you’re surprised to see me like this?” “I’ve never seen anything like it afore,” said the man guardedly. “I don’t s’pose you ’ave,” said the cook. “I’m the only man in England that can do it.” The man said he could quite believe it. “I’m doin’ it for a bet,” said the cook. “Oh-h,” said the man, his countenance clearing, “a bet. I thought you were mad. How much is it?” “Fifty pounds,” said the cook. “I’ve come all the way from London like this.” “Well, I’m blest!” said the man. “What won’t they think of next! Got much farther to go?” “Oakville,” said the cook, mentioning a place he had heard of in his wanderings. “At least I was, but I find it’s too much for me. Would you mind doing me the favor of cutting this line?” “No, no,” said the other reproachfully, “don’t give up now. Why, it’s only another seventeen miles.” “I must give it up,” said the cook, with a sad smile. “Don’t be beat,” said the man warmly. “Keep your ’art up, and you’ll be as pleased as Punch presently to think how near you was losing.” “Cut it off,” said the cook, trembling with impatience; “I’ve earned forty pounds of it by coming so far. If you cut it off I’ll send you ten of it.” The man hesitated while an inborn love of sport struggled with his greed. “I’ve got a wife and family,” he said at last in extenuation, and taking out a clasp-knife, steadied the cook with one hand while he severed his bonds with the other. “God bless you, mate!” said the cook, trying to straighten his bowed back as the chair fell to the ground. “My name’s Jack Thompson,” said his benefactor. “Jack Thompson, Winchgate ’ll find me.” “I’ll make it twelve pounds,” said the grateful cook, “and you can have the chair.” He shook him by the hand, and, freed from his burden, stepped out on his return journey, while his innocent accomplice, shouldering the chair, went back to learn from the rightful owner a few hard truths about his mental capacity.