"you must take a course of ROBERTS. He's a
rum 'un." Then he sings, "He's all right when you know him, but you've
got to hear him _fust_."

His guests politely smile, all except the Countess. I preserve a
discreet silence. Taking this on the whole for encouragement, PULLER
commences the song from which he has already quoted the chorus. What
the words are I do not catch, but as PULLER reproduces to the life the
style and manner of a London Music-Hall singer, and cocks his hat on
one side, it is no wonder that the French people at the other table
turn towards us in amazement.

"For goodness sake, MR. PULLER!" cries the Countess, rising from her
chair in consternation. JANE also rises, Miss CASANOVA is laughing
nervously. The METTERBRUNS look utterly astonished. I feel I must stop
this at once.

"My dear fellow," I say, magisterially, "you really mustn't do
this sort of thing"--he is breaking out again with "_O what a
surprise!_"--but I get up from my seat to reprove him gravely. "You
would not do this if you were in a London Restaurant."

"No," he replies, not in the least offended--"that's the lark of it.
I belong to 'The Out-for-a-lark-and-Two-with-you Society.' Don't you
mind me," he adds; then turning with a pleasant wink to the ladies,
who have been putting on their wraps and mantles, and are preparing to
leave, he sings again,--

"I'm all right when you know me--
But----"

We leave him to finish the song by himself.

And to think that my friend PULLER, with his hat cocked on one side,
a big cigar in his mouth, a tumbler of "absinthe gummy" before him, a
rakish expression in his eye, is the same PULLER to whom, as partner
in the firm of HORLER, PULLER, PULLER (J), BAKER AND DAYVILLE,
Solicitors, I would trust my dearest interests in any matter of
property, of character, even of life itself! The strange story of
_Hyde_ and _Jekyll_ is no fiction, after all.

* * * * *

WHITMAN IN LONDON.

(_Adapted from the American._)

Oh, site of Coldbath Fields Prison!
Oh, eight and three-quarter acres of potential Park for the plebs!
I gaze at you; I, WALT, gaze at you through cracks in the
black hoarding,
Though the helmeted blue-coated Bobby dilates to me on the
advantages of moving on.
I marvel at the stupidity of Authorities everywhere.
I stand and inhale a playground which in a week or two will be turned
into a Post Office by Government orders