ing, and the door on the
jar, so as you can get in quietly. Steady, young 'un! and mind the dish
when you cross the road." With these words Mat dismissed Zack from the
street-door to the oyster shop; and then returned immediately to his
guest upstairs.

Valentine was still fast asleep and snoring vehemently. Mat's hand
descended again into his pocket, reappearing, however, quickly enough
on this occasion, with the piece of wax which he had purchased that
morning. Steadying his arms coolly on the table, he detached the little
chain which held the key of Mr. Blyth's bureau, from the watchguard to
which it was fastened, took off on his wax a perfect impression of
the whole key from the pipe to the handle, attached it again to the
sleeper's watchguard, pared away the rough ends of the piece of wax
till it fitted into an old tin tobacco-box which he took from the
chimney-piece, pocketed this box, and then quietly resumed his original
place at the table.

"Now," said Mat, looking at the unconscious Mr. Blyth, after he had lit
his pipe again; "Now, Painter-Man! wake up as soon as you like."

It was not long before Zack returned. A violent bang of the street-door
announced his entry into the passage--a confused clattering and
stumbling marked his progress up stairs--a shrill crash, a heavy thump,
and a shout of laughter indicated his arrival on the landing. Mat ran
out directly, and found him prostrate on the floor, with the yellow
pie-dish in halves at the bottom of the stairs, and dozens of
oyster.-shells scattered about him in every direction.

"Hurt?" inquired Mat, pulling him up by the collar, and dragging him
into the room.

"Not a bit of it," answered Zack. "I've woke Blyth, though (worse luck!)
and spoilt our shot with the oyster, havn't I? Oh, Lord! how he stares!"

Valentine certainly did stare. He was standing up, leaning against the
wall, and looking about him in a woefully dazed condition. Either his
nap, or the alarming manner in which he had been awakened from it, had
produced a decided change for the worst in him. As he slowly recovered
what little sense he had left to make use of, all his talkativeness and
cordiality seemed to desert him. He shook his head mournfully; refused
to eat or drink anything; declared with sullen solemnity, that his
digestion was "a perfect wreck in consequence of his keeping drunken
society;" and insisted on going home directly, in spite of everything
that Zack could say to him