“There was a gentleman here, yesterday,” he said⁠—“a stout gentleman, by the name of Topsawyer⁠—perhaps you know him?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think⁠—”

“In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, grey coat, speckled choker,” said the waiter.

“No,” I said bashfully, “I haven’t the pleasure⁠—”

“He came in here,” said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler, “ordered a glass of this ale⁠— would order it⁠—I told him not⁠—drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn’t to be drawn; that’s the fact.”

I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I thought I had better have some water.