*

"This is a gentleman of excellent business ability, and I should say he
would be perfectly capable of managing a tolerably large business
concern." ("Then how was it he got the sack from the 'am-and-beef shop?"
_inquired one of the pests_.) "He is pushing and energetic, and he would
get on well--even in a 'olesale business." (_He is growing absolutely
fulsome!_) "If in business for himself, we shall not find him in a hurry
to shut up his shop exactly at the hour of closing, if he thinks he
could make more by keeping open a little longer." (_Considering that I
am in Government employ, with a decided leaning to literary pursuits,
which has not, as yet, met with much support--this is rather too much,
but it would be snobbish, perhaps, to say anything._) "I may add,"
concludes the Professor, with the air of a man who is conceding
somewhat, "that this gentleman would be qualified to succeed, would do
very well, as an artistic decorator. Are there any questions you would
like to ask?"

Not after that--no, none; I haven't the heart to ask him if he thinks I
could write even a creditable Nautical Drama! Besides, my faith in
Phrenology is shaken. Let me get away--out of sight and hearing of these
infernal Blazers.

Rise and leave with ironical dignity. Professor calls me back--thinks I
forgot to pay my shilling. Annoying, because it _had_ escaped me. "You
didn't tell us he had a bump for bilking!" jeers a fiend--"bilking," I
believe, is 'Arryan for going away without paying. Ironical dignity a
failure. "Will I pay half-a-crown extra, and have a written report of my
character?" I will _not_. Blazers seem sorry to part with me.

_Afternoon._--Too much depressed to work at Drama. Sands again.
Crowd--Conjuror. I shall see this time. "I want a soft gentleman's hat,"
he says, suddenly. "Do you mind?" He takes mine--the crowd roar. "Will I
assist him in this trick?" I did not mean to catch his eye--but I don't
like to be disobliging.

I am in the centre with the Conjuror. "May he do what he pleases with my
hat?" "By all means," I say, graciously. Then he'll _keep_ it, he says.
Childish joke that! "You're quite sure there's no hole in it?" he asks.
I am not, I tell him, in the habit of wearing a hat with a hole in it.
"Ain't you really? how do you get your head in?" he retorts, sharply.
Very old--but Starmouth people easily amused.

"Do I ever toss for drinks?" No, I do not. Then he will show me how to
do so, and win ev