tler."

"Start, and be d----d!" said Sir Bingo. "You are gotten, I assure you o'
that, Jack." And with a bow and a shuffle, he went up and introduced
himself to the stranger as Sir Bingo Binks.

"Had--honour--write--sir," were the only sounds which his throat, or
rather his cravat, seemed to send forth.

"Confound the booby!" thought Mowbray; "he will get out of leading
strings, if he goes on at this rate; and doubly confounded be this
cursed tramper, who, the Lord knows why, has come hither from the Lord
knows where, to drive the pigs through my game."

In the meantime, while his friend stood with his stop-watch in his hand,
with a visage lengthened under the influence of these reflections, Sir
Bingo, with an instinctive tact, which self-preservation seemed to
dictate to a brain neither the most delicate nor subtle in the world,
premised his enquiry by some general remark on fishing and field-sports.
With all these, he found Tyrrel more than passably acquainted. Of
fishing and shooting, particularly, he spoke with something like
enthusiasm; so that Sir Bingo began to hold him in considerable respect,
and to assure himself that he could not be, or at least could not
originally have been bred, the itinerant artist which he now gave
himself out--and this, with the fast lapse of the time, induced him thus
to address Tyrrel.--"I say, Mr. Tyrrel--why, you have been one of us--I
say"----

"If you mean a sportsman, Sir Bingo--I have been, and am a pretty keen
one still," replied Tyrrel.

"Why, then, you did not always do them sort of things?"

"What sort of things do you mean, Sir Bingo?" said Tyrrel. "I have not
the pleasure of understanding you."

"Why, I mean them sketches," said Sir Bingo. "I'll give you a handsome
order for them, if you will tell me. I will, on my honour."

"Does it concern you particularly, Sir Bingo, to know any thing of my
affairs?" said Tyrrel.

"No--certainly--not immediately," answered Sir Bingo, with some
hesitation, for he liked not the dry tone in which Tyrrel's answers were
returned, half so well as a bumper of dry sherry; "only I said you were
a d----d gnostic fellow, and I laid a bet you have not been always
professional--that's all."

Mr. Tyrrel replied, "A bet with Mr. Mowbray, I suppose?"

"Yes, with Jack," replied the Baronet--"you have hit it--I hope I have
done him?"

Tyrrel bent his brows, and looked first at Mr. Mowbray, then at the
Baronet, and, after a moment's thoug