toll somewhere in the recesses of the High Street, an old
gentleman walked in, and the barmaid, catching Spargo's eye, gave him a
glance which showed that the play was about to begin.

"Good evening, Mr. Kaye," said the barmaid. "You're first tonight."

"Evening," said Mr. Kaye and took a seat, scowled around him, and
became silent. He was a tall, lank old gentleman, clad in rusty black
clothes, with a pointed collar sticking up on both sides of his fringe
of grey whisker and a voluminous black neckcloth folded several times
round his neck, and by the expression of his countenance was inclined
to look on life severely. "Nobody been in yet?" asked Mr. Kaye. "No,
but here's Mr. Lummis and Mr. Skene," replied the barmaid.

Two more old gentlemen entered the bar-parlour. Of these, one was a
little, dapper-figured man, clad in clothes of an eminently sporting
cut, and of very loud pattern; he sported a bright blue necktie, a
flower in his lapel, and a tall white hat, which he wore at a rakish
angle. The other was a big, portly, bearded man with a Falstaffian
swagger and a rakish eye, who chaffed the barmaid as he entered, and
gave her a good-humoured chuck under the chin as he passed her. These
two also sank into chairs which seemed to have been specially designed
to meet them, and the stout man slapped the arms of his as familiarly
as he had greeted the barmaid. He looked at his two cronies.

"Well?" he said, "Here's three of us. And there's a symposium."

"Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the dapper little man. "Grandpa'll be
here in a minute. We'll start fair."

The barmaid glanced out of the window.

"There's Mr. Quarterpage coming across the street now," she announced.
"Shall I put the things on the table?"

"Aye, put them on, my dear, put them on!" commanded the fat man. "Have
all in readiness."

The barmaid thereupon placed a round table before the sacred chairs,
set out upon it a fine old punch-bowl and the various ingredients for
making punch, a box of cigars, and an old leaden tobacco-box, and she
had just completed this interesting prelude to the evening's discourse
when the door opened again and in walked one of the most remarkable old
men Spargo had ever seen. And by this time, knowing that this was the
venerable Mr. Benjamin Quarterpage, of whom Crowfoot had told him, he
took good stock of the newcomer as he took his place amongst his
friends, who on their part received him with ebullitions of delight
w