The greeting--Queer figure--Cheer up--The cheerful fire--It will do--The
sally forth--Trepidation--Let him come in.

'One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have brought with you
will be taken away from you!'

Such were the first words which greeted my ears, one damp misty morning
in March, as I dismounted from the top of a coach in the yard of a London
inn.

I turned round, for I felt that the words were addressed to myself.
Plenty of people were in the yard--porters, passengers, coachmen,
hostlers, and others, who appeared to be intent on anything but myself,
with the exception of one individual, whose business appeared to lie with
me, and who now confronted me at the distance of about two yards.

I looked hard at the man--and a queer kind of individual he was to look
at--a rakish figure, about thirty, and of the middle size, dressed in a
coat smartly cut, but threadbare, very tight pantaloons of blue stuff,
tied at the ankles, dirty white stockings and thin shoes, like those of a
dancing-master; his features were not ugly, but rather haggard, and he
appeared to owe his complexion less to nature than carmine; in fact, in
every respect, a very queer figure.

'One-and-ninepence, sir, or your things will be taken away from you!' he
said, in a kind of lisping tone, coming yet nearer to me.

I still remained staring fixedly at him, but never a word answered. Our
eyes met; whereupon he suddenly lost the easy impudent air which he
before wore. He glanced, for a moment, at my fist, which I had by this
time clenched, and his features became yet more haggard; he faltered; a
fresh 'one-and-ninepence,' which he was about to utter, died on his lips;
he shrank back, disappeared behind a coach, and I saw no more of him.

'One-and-ninepence, or my things will be taken away from me!' said I to
myself, musingly, as I followed the porter to whom I had delivered my
scanty baggage; 'am I to expect many of these greetings in the big world?
Well, never mind! I think I know the counter-sign!' And I clenched my
fist yet harder than before.

So I followed the porter, through the streets of London, to a lodging
which had been prepared for me by an acquaintance. The morning, as I
have before said, was gloomy, and the streets through which I passed were
dank and filthy; the people, also, looked dank and filthy; and so,
probably, did I, for the night had been rainy, and I had come upwards of
a hundred miles on the top of a