the 'bus. Up comes old Jack,
pushing his horses, and sees the boy. Gives a great howl like a
tom-cat. 'Hi! you young frog-spawn,' he says, 'out of my road,' and
startled the lad. I see him look up at Jack very steady, and keep his
eye on him. I thought to myself, 'There's something to pay on
delivery, my boy, for this here.' Jack owned up to it afterwards that
he felt queer, but he forgot about it. Now, if you'll believe me, sir,
the very next morning Jack was at London Bridge after his second
journey, when up comes this boy, sauntering into the yard. Comes up to
Jack and nods. 'Name of Withers?' he says. 'That's me,' says old Jack.
'Thought so,' he says. 'Telegram for you.' Jack takes it, opens it,
goes all white. 'Good God!' he says; 'good God Almighty! My wife's
dead!' She'd been knocked down by a Pickford that morning, sure as a
gun. What do you think of that for a start?

"He served Spotty Smith the fried-eel man just the very same, and lots
more I could tell you about. They call him Quidnunc--Mister Quidnunc,
too, and don't you forget it. There's that about him I--well, sir, if
it was to come to it that I had to lay a hand on him for something out
of Queer Street I shouldn't know how to do it. Now I'm telling you a
fact. I shouldn't--know--how--to--do it."

He was not, obviously, telling me a fact, but certainly he was much in
earnest. I commented upon the diversity of the company, and so learned
the name of my friend Mrs. Stanhope's friend. He clacked his tongue.
"Bless you," he said, "I've seen better than to-night, though we did
have a slap-up ladyship and all. That was Lady Emily Rich, that young
thing was, Earl of Richborough's family--Grosvenor Place. But we had a
Duchess or something here one night--ah, and a Bishop another, a Lord
Bishop. You'd never believe the tales we hear. He's known to every
night-constable from Woolwich to Putney Bridge--and the company he
gets about him you'd never believe. High and low, and all huddled
together like so many babes in a nursing-home. No distinction. You saw
old Mother Misery get first look-in to-night? My lady waited her turn,
like a good girl!" His voice sank to a whisper. "They tell me he's the
only living soul--if he _is_ a living soul--that's ever been inside
the Stock Exchange and come out tidy. He goes and comes in as he
likes--quite the Little Stranger. They all know him in Throgmorton
Street. No, no. There's more in this than meets the eye, sir. He's not
li