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[Illustration]


CHAPTER XII
AN OLD FRIEND

About a fortnight after the above catastrophe, and as the recollection of
it was nearly effaced by Miss Jumpheavy's abduction of Ensign Downley, our
friend, Mr. Waffles, on visiting his stud at the four o'clock
stable-hour, found a most respectable, middle-aged, rosy-gilled,
better-sort-of-farmer-looking man, straddling his tight drab-trousered
legs, with a twisted ash plant propping his chin, behind the redoubtable
Hercules. He had a bran-new hat on, a velvet-collared blue coat with metal
buttons, that anywhere but in the searching glare and contrast of London
might have passed for a spic-and-span new one; a small, striped,
step-collared toilanette vest; and the aforesaid drab trousers, in the
right-hand pocket of which his disengaged hand kept fishing up and slipping
down an avalanche of silver, which made a pleasant musical accompaniment to
his monetary conversation. On seeing Mr. Waffles, the stranger touched his
hat, and appeared to be about to retire, when Mr.


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