ted to him, he must
depart immediately. Mr. Pole was loth to let him go, but finally
commending him to a good supper, he sighed, and declared himself a new
man.

"Oh! what a jolly laugh! The very thing I wanted! It's worth hundreds to
me. I was queer before: no doubt about that!"

Again the ebbing convulsion of laughter seized him. "I feel as clear as
day," he said; and immediately asked Emilia whether she thought he would
have strength to get down to the cab. She took his hand, trying to assist
him from the seat. He rose, and staggered an instant. "A sort of reddish
cloud," he murmured, feeling over his forehead. "Ha! I know what it is. I
want a chop. A chop and a song. But, I couldn't take you, and I like you
by me. Good little woman!" He patted Emilia's shoulder, preparatory to
leaning on it with considerable weight, and so descended to the cab,
chuckling ever and anon at the reminiscence of Braintop.

There was a disturbance in the street. A man with a foreign accent was
shouting by the door of a neighbouring public-house, that he would not
yield his hold of the collar of a struggling gentleman, till the villain
had surrendered his child, whom he scandalously concealed from her
parents. A scuffle ensued, and the foreign voice was heard again:

"Wat! wat you have de shame, you have de pluck, ah! to tell me you know
not where she is, and you bring me a letter? Ho!--you have de cheeks to
tell me!"

This highly effective pluralizing of their peculiar slang, brought a roar
of applause from the crowd of Britons.

"Only a street row," said Mr. Pole, to calm Emilia.

"Will he be hurt?" she cried.

"I see a couple of policemen handy," said Mr. Pole, and Emilia cowered
down and clung to his hand as they drove from the place.

CHAPTER XXVI

It was midnight. Mr. Pole had appeased his imagination with a chop, and
was trying to revive the memory of his old after-theatre night carouses
by listening to a song which Emilia sang to him, while he sipped at a
smoking mixture, and beat time on the table, rejoiced that he was warm
from head to foot at last.

"That's a pretty song, my dear," he said. "A very pretty song. It does
for an old fellow; and so did my supper: light and wholesome. I'm an old
fellow; I ought to know I've got a grown-up son and grown-up daughters. I
shall be a grandpa, soon, I dare say. It's not the thing for me to go
about hearing glees. I had an idea of it. I'm better here. All I want is
to se