in a brass frame. He really hadn't the least curiosity to know what joints were on, and what entrées off, he was just asking himself a question which he couldn't answer. Another man had stopped to read the bill on the other door-post, and as he did so, Gray looked up. It was George Early. 

 For reasons best known to himself, Gray was angry. 

 "What the devil do you want?" he asked, addressing George. 

 "Want?" said George, surprised; "I'm looking at the bill." 

 "What do you want?" shouted Gray, fiercely, moving a step nearer. 

 "I want to be measured for a suit of clothes," said George, innocently. "This is a tailor's, isn't it?" 

 "This is a public-house," said Gray, in a low, murderous tone, "and you—you're following me." 

 A whisky bill stared George full in the face, and his pleasant expression gave way to a look of concern. 

 "A public-house?" he said, stepping back. "Why, so it is. What's this, Gray? You don't mean to tell me you——" 

 "I tell you this," said Gray in a fierce whisper, thrusting his face close to George's; "if I catch you following me about——" 

 "Stop!" said the other, in commanding tones; "this is no laughing matter. You have said enough, Gray, and I have seen you with my own eyes." He pulled out a note-book. 

 Gray laughed ironically. 

 "Damn your note-books," he said. "I don't know what you're after, but I know that it'll take more than a silly cuckoo like you to upset me." 

 "Be careful," said George; "you know what lawyers are when they like to be nasty." 

 Gray thrust himself forward offensively. "I suppose you think you know something," he said, looking at the other man's eyebrows from a distance of two inches. 

 George Early's face expanded in a smile, "I do," he said. 

 "Oh?" 

 "Yes. But," said George, "I'm the only one in the firm who knows. Exclusive information, as they say." 

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