him. And I told him
str'ight," etc.

"Quodlings', eh?" said Gammon reflectively. "They're likely to be
wanting a new traveller, I should say."

"They will if they take my advice," replied the shopkeeper. "And that I
shall give 'em, 'ot and strong."

As he drove on Gammon mused over this incident. The oil and colour
business was not one of his "specialities," but he knew a good deal
about it, and could easily learn what remained. The name of Quodling
interested him, being that of the man in the City who so strikingly
resembled Mr. Clover; who, moreover, was probably connected in some way
with the oil and colour firm. It might be well to keep an eye on
Quodlings'--a substantial concern, likely to give one a chance of the
"permanency" which was, on the whole, desirable.

He had a boy with him to hold the horses, a sharp lad, whose talk gave
him amusement when he was tired of thinking. They found a common
interest in dogs. Gammon invited the youngster to come and see his
"bows-wows" at Dulwich, and promised him his choice out of the litter
of bull terriers. With animation he discoursed upon the points of this
species of dog--the pure white coat; the long, lean, punishing head,
flat above; the breadth behind the ears, the strength of back. He
warned his young friend against the wiles of the "faker," who had been
known to pipeclay a mottled animal and deceive the amateur. Altogether
the day proved so refreshing that Gammon was sorry when its end drew
near.

Greenacre was late for his appointment at the stables; he came in a
suit of black, imperfectly fitting, and a chimney-pot hat some years
old, looking very much like an undertaker's man. His appearance seemed
to prove that he really had attended a funeral, which renewed Gammon's
wonder. As a matter of course they repaired to the nearest eating-house
to have a meal together--an eating-house of the old fashion, known also
as a coffee-shop, which Gammon greatly preferred to any kind of
restaurant. There, on the narrow seats with high wooden backs, as
uncomfortable a sitting as could be desired, with food before him of
worse quality and worse cooked than any but English-speaking mortals
would endure, he always felt at home, and was pleasantly reminded of
the days of his youth, when a supper of eggs and bacon at some such
resort rewarded him for a long week's toil and pinching. Sweet to him
were the rancid odours, delightfully familiar the dirty knives, the
twisted forks