u nod again.--Well, I'm
blessed, sir, if I don't think it will begin to get easy after a bit of
practice.--There's another of your nods. Thankye, sir. Yes, it will
come right after all. I never thought anyone could get through so much
business with a few nods and shakes of the head.--Beg pardon, sir.--
Hullo, that's a shake! I'm doing wrong. It takes a bit of time.--You
nod. So it does, sir--I mean Mr Ben.--What's that wrong? Why, what
have I said?--I know: it's the `mister.' Thought so.--Ben, then, or Ben
Eddin. I shall get it soon. Well, I don't want to be a nuisance, but
it's very lonely for me, Ben, and if you wouldn't mind, as we are to be
a bit together, I should like to come to you when I feel in a bit of a
fix."

Frank nodded and Sam's face lit-up with pleasure.

"That's very nice of you, Ben Eddin," he said eagerly. "You see, I
wanted to have a word or two with you about these things. I want to do
it right and look proper."

Frank nodded.

"'Tain't vanity, mind, sir. I ain't a bit conceited, but I should like
to feel that I look decent."

There was a decisive nod.

"Thankye, Ben Eddin. You see, they're so fresh to me. The bit o'
scarlet looks right, don't it? Thankye Ben. You don't think it a bit
too sojery, do you? No; you don't. Well, I'm glad o' that, for I felt
as it took off a bit of the washer-womany, night-gowny idea. Then you
think I shall do, Ben--Eddin?"

Frank nodded approval.

"Hah! Makes a man feel a deal better. For between ourselves, Ben
Eddin, I got an idea in my head that everyone was a bit on the grin as
soon as I came out, and if you could lay your 'and on your 'eart now and
say to me with one of your straightforward looks without blinking your
eyes that it was all my fancy I could go on as comfortable as could be,
for they are out and out nice and cool."

Frank gave his companion the asked-for steady look, and smilingly laid
his hand upon his breast.

"Thankye, Ben Eddin. You always were a pleasant gentleman that it was a
treat to have staying at Wimpole Street. Wimpole Street!--Ha, ha, ha!"
said Sam, laughing softly. "My word! how comic it does seem. What
would they say in Wimpole Street if they could--"

Sam stopped short, and a look of pain crossed his face.

"Beg pardon, sir," he whispered. "Well, Ben Eddin," he said aloud.
"Mr Landon said I was never to whisper, and I won't do it again. But I
wanted to say I was sorry. It isn't comic, or quee