's t'other flat; 'im with the eyes?"

"He's away ill," I said. "He's got smallpox, and says he believes he
caught it from you."

"Get 'long!" replied the boy.

"Well, most likely it was in the court where you live."

"You can take your davy of that," replied the boy; "there's plenty of
'im there."

"Have you had it?"

"In corse I 'ave. I say, 'ave yer seen the old gal about?"

"Your mother? No. Why?"

"On'y she's a-missin', that's all; but there, she allers turns up, she
does, and wipes me to-rights, too."

"She was nearly killing you the night we saw you," said I.

"'Taint no concern of yourn. Shine 'e boots, sir? 'ere yer are, sir.
Not that bloke, sir. Do yer 'ear? Shine 'e boots, mister?"

This last spirited call was addressed to an elderly gentleman who was
passing. He yielded eventually to the youth's solicitation, and I
therefore resumed my walk to the office with a good deal more to think
of than I had when I started.

If I had desired to make a sensation at Hawk Street, I could hardly have
done better than turn up that morning as usual. It was a picture to see
the fellows' faces of alarm, bewilderment, astonishment, and finally of
merriment.

They had all heard that I was laid up with smallpox, which, as my friend
Smith was also ill of the same malady, they all considered as natural on
my part, and highly proper. They had, in fact, faced the prospect of
getting on without me, and were quite prepared to exist accordingly.
The partners, too, had talked the matter over, and come to the decision
of advertising again without delay for a new clerk to take my place, and
that very morning were intending to draw up the advertisement and send
it to the papers.

Under these circumstances I appeared unexpectedly and just as usual on
the Hawk Street horizon. No, not just as usual. Had I appeared just as
usual, it might have been easier for the company generally to believe
that I was really sound, but when my face presented a brilliant
combination of most of the colours of the rainbow, the effect was rather
sensational.

"Why, if it's not Batchelor," exclaimed Doubleday; not, however,
advancing open-armed to meet me, but edging towards the far end of the
desk, and dexterously insinuating Crow and Wallop between me and his
precious person. "Why, we heard you had smallpox."

"So we thought yesterday," said I, gravely, half aggravated still that I
had been defrauded of that distinction.

"Oh,