The reader shall be spared the rubbish he wrote. To this day he flares
up angrily if you so much as mention the Polyglot Pickle to him.

The public, who laughed next week over the ridiculous bathos of those
twenty loud-sounding ballads, little guessed the misery and disgust they
had cost their author.

The one part of the whole business that was not odious was that in six
hours Jeffreys had twenty-five shillings in his pocket; and to him
twenty-five shillings meant a clear week and more in which to devote
himself to the now all-absorbing task of seeking young Forrester.

On his way back to Storr Alley that evening he called as usual at the
coffee-house, and found a further letter awaiting him:--

"Messrs. Wilkins & Wilkins will be much obliged if the writer of the
letter of the sixth inst. will favour them with a call on Wednesday
forenoon, as he may be able to assist them materially in the search in
which they are engaged. Messrs. W. & W. will treat an interview as
confidential."

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

HIGH DUDGEON.

Things had not been going well with Percy Rimbolt since we saw him last,
six or eight months ago, just before Jeffreys' expulsion from the house
in Clarges Street. Mrs Rimbolt had some reason to modify her self-
congratulations on that occasion, when Percy and Raby, who, it will be
remembered, had been out riding at the time, returned home. Percy
returned in high spirits; his new horse had turned out a beauty, and the
canter in the park had acted like a tonic.

"Hullo, mother!" he said, as his parent came into the hall to meet him.
"We've had a grand time, Raby and I. We saw the Prince of Wales and
W.G. Grace, and the Queen, and everybody, and I gave Raby two hundred
yards from the corner and ran her down before we were off Knightsbridge,
and nearly got hauled up for furious riding. I say, I mean to make
father get a horse for old Jeff, and we'll go out early in the mornings,
when the Row's empty, and try handicaps, eh, Raby? Where's Jeff, I
say?" and he ran whistling upstairs.

His mother, with some premonitory misgivings followed him.

"Where are you, Jeff?" she heard him shout. "I say, mother," he added,
as Mrs Rimbolt approached, "where's Jeff? Is he out?"

"He is," said Mrs Rimbolt solemnly. "I want to speak to you, Percy."

"All right. But I say, when will he be in? He said he couldn't leave
his work this afternoon. I want him to see Bendigo before he goes round
to