old Sam did.

I dare say he was a great blackguard, but as he has long joined the
majority, it is of no consequence. There was one thing I admired about
Sam: there was a thorough absence in him of all hypocrisy and cant. He
professed no religion whatever, but acted upon the principle that a
bargain was a bargain, and should be carried out as between man and
man. That was his idea, and as I found him true to it, I respected him
accordingly, and mention his name as one of the few genuinely honest
men I have met.

The way I made his acquaintance was singular. I was dining with my
brother benchers at the Middle Temple Hall, when a message was brought
that a gentleman would like to see me "partickler" after dinner, if I
could give him a few minutes.

When I came out of the hall, there was a man looking very like a
burglar. His dress, or what you should call his "get-up," is worth a
momentary glance. He had a cat-skin cap in his hand about as large
as a frying-pan, and nearly of the same colour--this he kept turning
round and round first with one hand, then with both--a pea-jacket with
large pearl buttons, corduroy breeches, a kind of moleskin waistcoat,
and blucher shoes. He impressed one in a moment as being fond of
drink. On one or two occasions I found this quality of great service
to me in matters relating to the discovery of lost dogs. Drink, no
doubt, has its advantages to those who do not drink.

"Muster Orkins, sir," said he, "beggin' your pardon, sir, but might I
have a word with you, Muster Orkins, if it ain't a great intrusion,
sir?"

I saw my man at once, and showed him that I understood business.

"You are Sam Linton?"

It took his breath away. He hadn't much, but poor old Sam did not
like to part with it. In a very husky voice, that never seemed to get
outside his mouth, he said,--

"_Yus, sur_; that's it, Mr. Orkins." Then he breathed, "Yer 'onner,
wot I means to say is this--"

"What do you want, Linton? Never mind what you mean to say; I know
you'll never say it."

"Well, Mr. Orkins, sir, ye see it is as this: you've lost a little
dorg. Well, you'll say, 'How do you know that 'ere, Sam?' 'Well, sir,'
I says, ''ow don't I know it? Ain't you bin an' offered _fourteen pun_
for that there leetle dorg? Why, it's knowed dreckly all round Mile
End--the werry 'ome of lorst dorgs--and that there dorg, find him when
you wool, why, he ain't worth more'n _fourteen bob_, sir.' Now, 'ow
d'ye 'count for that