`I never,' Mark replied, in some confusion, `said nothing as was in a direct way courting-like to her, nor she to me, but I don't know what I mightn't do one of these odd times, and what she mightn't say in answer. Well, sir, that wouldn't suit.'

`Not to be landlord of the Dragon, Mark?' cried Mr. Pinch.

`No, sir, certainly not,' returned the other, withdrawing his gaze from the horizon, and looking at his fellow- traveller. `Why that would be the ruin of a man like me. I go and sit down comfortably for life, and no man never finds me out. What would be the credit of the land-lord of the Dragon's being jolly? Why, he couldn't help it, if he tried.'

`Does Mrs. Lupin know you are going to leave her?' Mr. Pinch inquired.

`I haven't broke it to her yet, sir, but I must. I'm looking out this morning for something new and suitable,' he said, nodding towards the city.

`What kind of thing now?' Mr. Pinch demanded.

`I was thinking,' Mark replied, `of something in the grave-digging. way.'

`Good gracious, Mark?' cried Mr. Pinch.

`It's a good damp, wormy sort of business, sir,' said Mark, shaking his head argumentatively, `and there might be some credit in being jolly, with one's mind in that pursuit, unless grave-diggers is usually given that way; which would be a drawback. You don't happen to know how that is in general, do you, sir?'

`No,' said Mr. Pinch, `I don't indeed. I never thought upon the subject.'

`In case of that not turning out as well as one could wish, you know,' said Mark, musing again, `there's other businesses. Undertaking now. That's gloomy. There might be credit to be gained there. A broker's man in a poor neighbourhood wouldn't be bad perhaps. A jailor sees a deal of misery. A doctor's man is in the very midst of murder. A bailiff's an't lively office nat'rally. Even a tax-gatherer must find his feelings rather worked upon, at times. There's lots of trades in which I should have an opportunity, I think.'

Mr. Pinch was so perfectly overwhelmed by these remarks that he could do nothing but occasionally exchange a word or two on some indifferent subject, and cast sidelong glances at the bright face of his odd friend (who seemed quite unconscious of his observation), until they reached a certain corner of the road, close upon the outskirts of the city, when Mark said he would jump down there, if he pleased.

`But bless my soul, Mark,' said Mr. Pinch, who in the progress of his observation just then made the discovery that the bosom of his companion's shirt was as much exposed as if it was Midsummer, and was ruffled by every breath of air, `why don't you wear a waistcoat?'

`What's the good of one, sir?' asked Mark.

`Good of one?' said Mr. Pinch. `Why, to keep your chest warm.'

`Lord love you, sir!' cried Mark, `you don't know me. My chest don't want no warming. Even if it did, what would no waistcoat bring it to? Inflammation of the lungs, perhaps? Well, there'd be some credit in being jolly, with a inflammation of the lungs.'

As Mr. Pinch returned no other answer than such as was conveyed in his breathing very hard, and opening his eyes very wide, and nodding his head very much, Mark thanked him for his ride, and without troubling him to stop, jumped lightly down. And away he fluttered, with his red neckerchief, and his open coat, down a cross-lane: turning back from time to time to nod to Mr. Pinch, and looking one of the most careless,