ted his knowledge, with no end of nods and
winks, to his fellow-tradesmen, as he termed them--to wit, Huttoft, the
saddler, who made nothing but harness, and Mouncey, the baker, when they
came in for a glass.

"And if here ain't Mr Gurdon himself!" exclaimed Chunt, one evening,
when he had been distilling information to a select knot of customers.
"Take a chair, Mr Gurdon, sir. Glad to see you this evening. Very
curious coincidence, sir: we were just talking about you and your
people;" which was indeed most remarkable, considering that nothing else
had been talked of in the village for weeks past. "What'll you take,
sir? only give it a name. Quite an honour to have you distinguished
furreners amongst us."

Mr Gurdon smiled and rubbed his hands; but, evidently considering that
he had mistaken his position, he frowned the next moment, and nodded
condescendingly to the tradesmen and little yeomen present. Certainly
they had, several of them, known him as a boy; but then he had risen in
the world, and deserved their respect; besides which, look at the
patronage he could bestow. So Mr Gurdon frowned, coughed, and looked
important; but, finding that room was made for him, and that incense in
abundance was being prepared in his behalf, he condescended to take a
seat, and gave what he would take the name of sherry, with which he
smoked a cigar, whose aroma whispered strongly of the box from which it
had been taken.

Mr Gurdon's presence, though, did not tend to the increase of comfort
in the party assembled, for the gentleman's gentleman seemed to have
imbibed a considerable portion of his master's dignity, sitting there
very haughty and reserved, while, the flow of conversation being
stopped, the rest sat still, smoked, breathed hard, and stared.

But Chunt was satisfied, and he winked and nodded, and whispered behind
his hand most mysteriously as he took orders from one and another. He
expected that Mr Gurdon would thaw in time with a little management,
and, putting on his diplomatic cap, he set to work by asking his advice.

"That sherry's not much account, Mr Gurdon, sir," he said, in a
whisper; "but it's the best I've got to offer you. The long and short
of it is, sir, we can't order enough, in a little house like this, to
make a wine-merchant care about sending it good; but I've got a few
gallons of brandy down now that I should just like you to try, and give
me your opinion. You see, it isn't every day as o