that if thou delayest long or returnest without my bottle, I shall
know that thou art a traitor, and will visit thee and those who are dear
to thee with the most unpleasant punishments!"

"I'll be back in half an hour, at most," said Horace, feeling that this
would allow him ample margin, and thankful that it did not occur to
Fakrash to go in person.

He put on his hat, and hurried off in the gathering dusk. He had some
little trouble in finding Mr. Dilger's establishment, which was a dirty,
dusty little place in a back street, with a few deplorable old chairs,
rickety washstands, and rusty fenders outside, and the interior almost
completely blocked by piles of dingy mattresses, empty clock-cases,
tarnished and cracked mirrors, broken lamps, damaged picture-frames, and
everything else which one would imagine could have no possible value
for any human being. But in all this collection of worthless curios the
brass bottle was nowhere to be seen.

Ventimore went in and found a youth of about thirteen straining his eyes
in the fading light over one of those halfpenny humorous journals which,
thanks to an improved system of education, at least eighty per cent. of
our juvenile population are now enabled to appreciate.

"I want to see Mr. Dilger," he began.

"You can't," said the youth. "'Cause he ain't in. He's attending of an
auction."

"When _will_ he be in, do you know?"

"Might be back to his tea--but I wasn't to expect him not before
supper."

"You don't happen to have any old metal bottles--copper or--or brass
would do--for sale?"

"You don't git at me like that! Bottles is made o' glorss."

"Well, a jar, then--a big brass pot--anything of that kind?"

"Don't keep 'em," said the boy, and buried himself once more in his copy
of "Spicy Sniggers."

"I'll just look round," said Horace, and began to poke about with a
sinking heart, and a horrid dread that he might have come to the wrong
shop, for the big pot-bellied vessel certainly did not seem to be there.
At last, to his unspeakable joy, he discovered it under a piece of
tattered drugget. "Why, this is the sort of thing I meant," he said,
feeling in his pocket and discovering that he had exactly a sovereign.
"How much do you want for it?"

"I dunno," said the boy.

"I don't mind three shillings," said Horace, who did not wish to appear
too keen at first.

"I'll tell the guv'nor when he comes in," was the reply, "and you can
look in later."

"I want