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“Euchred?” this gentleman simply asked, in a nasal tone of immense mirth.

“If you mean do I know you, I don’t,” said Dick, only a degree less haughtily than if he had come straight from Oxford instead of from the bush.

“What! you don’t remember me?” exclaimed the man more explicitly, his fingers itching to leap from the waistcoat-pocket.

Dick stared an uncompromising denial.

The diamond flashed in his eyes, and a small piece of pasteboard was held in front of him, on which were engraved these words:

“The Hon. Stephen Biggs.”

Dick repressed an insane impulse to explode with laughter.

“What! of Marshall’s Creek?”

“The same.”

Dick stretched out his hand.

“A thousand pardons, my dear fellow; but how could I expect to see you here? And the Honourable?”

“Ah!” said Mr. Biggs, with legitimate pride, “that knocks you, old man! It was only the Legislative Assembly when you and me was mates; it’s the Legislative Council now. I’m in the Upper ‘Ouse, my son!”

“I’m sure I congratulate you,” said Dick.