s hand.

"There, take it," said Martha, "You shouldn't judge too quickly. You
don't know _why_ I looked put out. It is my--"

She stopped short, and then said hurriedly, "Don't drink it, Phil."

"No, I won't. I'm hungry. I'll eat it. Thankee."

With a coarse laugh he left the room, and poor Martha sat down again to
her weary toil, which was not in any degree lightened by the fact that
she had just given away her last shilling.

A moment after, the door opened suddenly and Mr Sparks looked in with a
grin, which did not improve the expression of his countenance.

"I say, I wouldn't finish that dress to-night if I was you."

"Why not, Phil?" asked the girl in surprise.

"'Cause the lady won't want it to-morrow arternoon."

"How do you know that?"

"No matter. It's by means of a kind of second-sight I've got, that I
find out a-many things. All I can say is that I've got a strong
suspicion--a what d'ye call it--a presentiment that Mrs Middleton, of
Number 6, Conway Street, Knightsbridge, won't want her dress to-morrow,
so I advise you to go to bed to-night."

Without waiting for a reply Mr Sparks shut the door and descended to
the street. Purchasing and lighting a cheroot at the nearest tobacco
shop with part of Martha's last shilling, he thrust his hands into his
pockets, and sauntering along various small streets and squares, gave
his undivided attention to business.

For a man whose wants were rather extensive and urgent, the "business"
did not seem a very promising one. He glanced up at the houses as he
sauntered along, appearing almost to expect that some of them would
undergo spontaneous combustion for his special accommodation.
Occasionally he paused and gazed at a particular house with rapt
intensity, as if he hoped the light which flashed from his own eyes
would set it on fire; but the houses being all regular bricks refused to
flare up at such a weak insult.

Finding his way to Trafalgar Square, Mr Sparks threw away the end of
his cheroot, and, mending his pace, walked smartly along Piccadilly
until he gained the neighbourhood of Knightsbridge. Here he purchased
another cheroot, and while lighting it took occasion to ask if there was
a street thereabouts named Conway Street.

"Yes, sir, there is," said a small and exceedingly pert
crossing-sweeper, who chanced to be standing near the open door of the
shop, and overheard the question. "I'll show you the way for a copper,
sir, but silver p