angle you"; and I shall shave myself, and put
on a quiet blue serge suit and a bowler 'at, tell my landlady to keep my
rooms for me till I comes back, slip out o' the 'ouse, and into the fust
'ansom I meets, and back to the Halbany. And a month arter that, I shall
come into my chambers at the Halbany, fling Voltaire and Parini into the
fire, shy me 'at at the bust of good old 'Omer, slip on my blue suit
agen, and back to the Mile End Road.'

"'How do you explain your absence to both parties?' I asked.

"'Oh, that's simple enough,' he replied. 'I just tells my 'ousekeeper at
the Halbany as I'm goin' on the Continong; and my mates 'ere thinks I'm a
traveller.'

"'Nobody misses me much,' he added, pathetically; 'I hain't a
partic'larly fetchin' sort o' bloke, either of me. I'm sich an out-and-
outer. When I'm an 'Arry, I'm too much of an 'Arry, and when I'm a prig,
I'm a reg'lar fust prize prig. Seems to me as if I was two ends of a man
without any middle. If I could only mix myself up a bit more, I'd be all
right.'

"He sniffed once or twice, and then he laughed. 'Ah, well,' he said,
casting aside his momentary gloom; 'it's all a game, and wot's the odds
so long as yer 'appy. 'Ave a wet?'

"I declined the wet, and left him playing sentimental airs to himself
upon the concertina.

"One afternoon, about a month later, the servant came to me with a card
on which was engraved the name of 'Mr. Joseph Smythe.' I requested her
to show him up. He entered with his usual air of languid
superciliousness, and seated himself in a graceful attitude upon the
sofa.

"'Well,' I said, as soon as the girl had closed the door behind her, 'so
you've got rid of Smith?'

"A sickly smile passed over his face. 'You have not mentioned it to any
one?' he asked anxiously.

"'Not to a soul,' I replied; 'though I confess I often feel tempted to.'

"'I sincerely trust you never will,' he said, in a tone of alarm. 'You
can have no conception of the misery the whole thing causes me. I cannot
understand it. What possible affinity there can be between myself and
that disgusting little snob passes my comprehension. I assure you, my
dear Mac, the knowledge that I was a ghoul, or a vampire, would cause me
less nausea than the reflection that I am one and the same with that
odious little Whitechapel bounder. When I think of him every nerve in my
body--'

"'Don't think about him any more,' I interrupted, perceiving his strongly-
s