'Thief! I said nothing of thieves. He may, for aught I know, be just as good as the rest of the world; all I say is, that I believe him to be no better. But come, we must go back to the inn; there is an ally of mine coming to me; a perfect specimen of a sharp Cornish mining stock-jobber--as vulgar a fellow as you ever met, and as shrewd. He won't stay very long, so you need not be afraid of him.' Alaric began to feel uneasy, and to think that there might by possibility be something in what Neverbend had said to him. He did not like the idea of meeting a Cornish stock-jobber in a familiar way over his brandy-punch, while engaged, as he now was, on the part of Government; he felt that there might be impropriety in it, and he would have been glad to get off if he could. But he felt ashamed to break his engagement, and thus followed Undy into the hotel. 'Has Mr. Manylodes been here?' said Scott, as he walked upstairs. 'He's in the bar now, sir,' said the waiter. 'Beg him to come up, then. In the bar! why, that man must have a bar within himself--the alcohol he consumes every day would be a tidy sale for a small public-house.' Up they went, and Mr. Manylodes was not long in following them. He was a small man, more like an American in appearance than an Englishman. He had on a common black hat, a black coat, black waistcoat, and black trousers, thick boots, a coloured shirt, and very dirty hands. Though every article he wore was good, and most of them such as gentlemen wear, no man alive could have mistaken him for a gentleman. No man, conversant with the species to which he belonged, could have taken him for anything but what he was. As he entered the room, a faint, sickly, second-hand smell of alcohol pervaded the atmosphere. 'Well, Manylodes,' said Scott, 'I'm glad to see you again. This is my friend, Mr. Tudor.' 'Your servant, sir,' said Manylodes, just touching his hat, without moving it from his head. 'And how are you, Mr. Scott? I am glad to see you again in these parts, sir.' 'And how's trade? Come, Tudor, what will you drink? Manylodes, I know, takes brandy; their sherry is vile, and their claret worse; maybe they may have a fairish glass of port. And how is trade, Manylodes?' 'We're all as brisk as bees at present. I never knew things sharper. If you've brought a little money with you, now's your time. But I tell you this, you'll find it sharp work for the eyesight.' 'Quick's the word, I suppose.' 'Lord love you! Quick! Why, a fellow must shave himself before he goes to bed if he wants to be up in time these days.' 'I suppose so.' 'Lord love you! why there was old Sam Weazle; never caught napping yet--why at Truro, last Monday, he bought up to 450 New Friendships, and before he was a-bed they weren't worth, not this bottle of brandy. Well, old Sam was just bit by those Cambourne lads.' 'And how did that happen?'