The fat boy went into the next room; and, having been absent about a minute, returned with the snuffbox, and the palest face that ever a fat boy wore.

“What’s the matter with the boy?” exclaimed Wardle.

“Nothen’s the matter with me,” replied Joe nervously.

“Have you been seeing any spirits?” inquired the old gentleman.

“Or taking any?” added Ben Allen.

“I think you’re right,” whispered Wardle across the table. “He is intoxicated, I’m sure.”

Ben Allen replied that he thought he was; and, as that gentleman had seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardle was confirmed in an impression which had been hovering about his mind for half an hour, and at once arrived at the conclusion that the fat boy was drunk.