shut up in his own rooms. Business won't come to him. No. He must go to it. Then why don't he go! He knows where to go, I suppose, having been a man of business all his life. Very good. Then why not go there?'

Mrs. Chick, after forging this powerful chain of reasoning, remains silent for a minute to admire it.

`Besides,' says the discreet lady, with an argumentative air, `who ever heard of such obstinacy as his staying shut up here through all these dreadful disagreeables? It's not as if there was no place for him to go to. Of course he could have come to our house. He knows he is at home there, I suppose? Mr. Chick has perfectly bored about it, and I said with my own lips, "Why surely, Paul, you don't imagine that because your affairs have got into this state, you are the less at home to such near relatives as ourselves? You don't imagine that we are like the rest of the world?" But no; here he stays all through, and here he is. Why, good gracious me, suppose the house was to be let! What would he do then? He couldn't remain here then. If he attempted to do so, there would be an ejectment, an action for Doe, and all sorts of things; and then he must go. Then why not go at first instead of at last? And that brings me back to what I said just now, and I naturally ask what is to be the end of it?'

`I know what's to be the end of it, as far as I am concerned,' replies Mrs. Pipchin, `and that's enough for me. I'm going to take myself off in a jiffy.'

`In a which, Mrs. Pipchin,' says Mrs. Chick.

`In a jiffy,' retorts Mrs. Pipchin sharply.

`Ah, well! really I can't blame you, Mrs. Pipchin,' says Mrs. Chick, with frankness.

`It would be pretty much the same to me, if you could,' replies the sardonic Pipchin. `At any rate I'm going. I can't stop here. I should be dead in a week. I had to cook my own pork chop yesterday, and I'm not used to it. My constitution will be giving way next. Besides, I had a very fair connexion at Brighton when I came here--little Pankey's folks alone were worth a good eighty pounds a-year to me--and I can't afford to throw it away. I've written to my niece, and she expects me by this time.'

`Have you spoken to my brother?' inquires Mrs. Chick.

`Oh, yes, it's very easy to say speak to him,' retorts Mrs. Pipchin. `How is it done? I called out to him yesterday, that I was no use here, and that he had better let me send for Mrs. Richards. He grunted something or other that meant yes, and I sent! Grunt indeed! If he had been Mr. Pipchin, he'd have had some reason to grunt. Yah! I've no patience with it!'

Here this exemplary female, who has pumped up so much fortitude and virtue from the depths of the Peruvian mines, rises from her cushioned property to see Mrs. Chick to the door. Mrs. Chick, deploring to the last the peculiar character of her brother, noiselessly retires, much occupied with her own sagacity and clearness of head.

In the dusk of the evening Mr. Toodle, being off duty, arrives with Polly and a box, and leaves them, with a sounding kiss, in the hall of the empty house, the retired character of which affects Mr. Toodle's spirits strongly.

`I tell you what, Polly, my dear.' says Mr. Toodle, `being now an ingein-driver, and well to do in the world, I shouldn't allow of your coming here, to be made dull-like, if it warn't for favours past. But favours past, Polly, is never to be forgot. To them which is in adversity, besides, your face is a cord'l. So let's have another kiss on it, my dear. You wish no better than to do a right act, I know; and my views is, that it's right and dutiful to do this. Good night, Polly!'