“Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle I shouldn’t be quite so staggery this mornin’,” replied Sam. “Are you stoppin’ in this house, old ’un?”

The mulberry man replied in the affirmative.

“How was it you worn’t one of us, last night?” inquired Sam, scrubbing his face with the towel. “You seem one of the jolly sort⁠—looks as conwivial as a live trout in a lime basket,” added Mr. Weller, in an undertone.

“I was out last night with my master,” replied the stranger.

“What’s his name?” inquired Mr. Weller, colouring up very red with sudden excitement, and the friction of the towel combined.

“Fitz-Marshall,” said the mulberry man.