Since the Marquis of Twickenham was alive I thought it would be just as well to announce the fact in the grand style. So one morning, having arrived at the conclusion that it was about time that the announcement should be made, I paid up what was owing for those rooms in Clifford Street, Dalston, had my portmanteau put on the top of a cab, and having put myself inside, drove off to Twickenham House in St. James's Square. It was a good horse, and as it took me along as a horse ought to, from the tingle at the tips of my fingers, and the tickle at the balls of my feet, which made me feel I'd like to do something high-toned in the way of fancy dancing, I knew that I was going to enjoy myself. Cab stopped; I stepped out, overpaid cabby, got in some work on the knocker and the bell. Door opened and there was a young six-footer, in a lovely livery, beautiful silk stockings, and with a teaspoonful of flour on his manly head, looking down at me. I just walked past him as if he wasn't there, tipped my thumb over my shoulder and remarked, 'Luggage.' He didn't seem as if he knew what to make of me at all. 'I beg your pardon, sir, what name?' 'What name?' I looked him up; I couldn't look him down, he was a size too large. 'Bring in that luggage.' I don't know whether it was the power of the human eye, or what it was; but he didn't need a second telling. He nipped down the steps, took the portmanteau which the cabman was holding out, and deposited it in the hall as neat and nice as ninepence. While he was engaged in doing this another gentleman in the same rigging came sailing up to me. 'What name, sir?' 'Don't you know me?' 'No, sir.' 'Don't you call me "sir" again, or you never will.' I turned into a room upon my left--the first there was to turn into. It was a good large room, but it wanted livening up. There was too much darkness about the place, and too much solidity about the furniture, to suit me. Footman No. 2 had followed me to the door. 'May I ask your name, sir?' 'Didn't I tell you not to call me "sir "?' Plainly he was like his friend--didn't know what to make of me. 'I'll send Mr. Gayer to you.' Presently in came a tall, thin old party, with a stoop. Old family servant written large all over him. Bound to have been in the house his whole life long. Served my father; probably my grandfather too. So I shot an arrow into the air. 'Hollo, Gayer! Why, you're as thin as I am.' He came right into the room and took a squint at me. 'My lord!' He gave a little hop. 'How do? I want something to eat. Now.' The old chap was trembling all over. 'My lord, I--I'm delighted to see you, if I may make so bold as to say so, but I--I don't understand. It's been given out that your lordship is dead.' 'I'm not dead. As you'll find if you don't soon feed me. Where's every one--or any one?' 'The Marquis has gone to Cressland.' 'Who's gone to Cressland?' 'Your lordship's brother. I--I've got in the way of calling him the Marquis.'