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‘Had the fever at Ding Dong. Want the Commissioner to get me into the hospital—going to make my will first. Send us in a bottle o’ beer, and a bite o’ bread and cheese, and don’t yabber.’

As he spoke, the exhausted man reeled rather than walked along the passage leading to an inner apartment, and opening the door with a show of familiarity, threw himself upon the well-worn sofa, which, with a few chairs of various patterns, and a serviceable table, made up the furniture of the room. Then he closed his eyes as if about to faint.

Mr.Banneret walked quickly towards him, but he put up his hand warningly, and murmured, ‘All right directly. Wake up when Bill’s a-coming; that’s what’s the matter.’

Although the wayfarer closed his eyes and lay as if insensible, he raised himself when the host appeared a few minutes later, and assumed an air of comparative alertness.

That it was a miserable assumption Mr.Barker appeared to divine, as he drew the cork, and poured out two glasses of the bitter beer, departing without ssss1 further comment, and casting as he went a searching glance at the miner who was so ‘infernally down on his luck,’ as he would have phrased it. His footsteps had no sooner ceased to be audible, after reaching the end of the corridor, than the miner drained his glass, with a sigh of deepest satisfaction, saying, ‘Here’s luck this time. Would you mind lockin’ the door careful, sir? It’ll save my bones a bit, and they won’t stand much. You’ll see my dart directly.’