the room wondering what else he could do to show his rejoicing spirit. In his shabby patched clothes, and wearing an apron of green baize, Bottles grinned respectfully when Hench sat up in bed to drink his tea. He also supplied him with small-beer chronicles concerning events which had taken place in The Home of the Muses during his hero's absence. Hench cared very little for such gossip, but allowed Bottles to prattle on because it pleased the lad. And certainly Master Jedd might have been a detective, so full and clever was his report. In the course of his narrative he arrived at Spruce. Then Hench really did listen, for, simple as he was, he began to wonder if the Nut had given his true reason for this visit to Bethnal Green.
"Such a swell as he is, ain't he?" babbled Bottles, who was now slipping links and studs into Hench's shirt. "I never did see a cove come with so many boxes, sir. Must be rich, I think, though he ain't free with his money. Says he knew you at school, sir, he does. True, ain't it?"
"Quite true, Bottles!" replied Hench, nodding. "I haven't seen him for eight or more years."
"And you don't like him now you do see him, do you, sir?"
"Why should you say that?"
"Well, sir"--Bottles scratched his scarlet poll--"he don't seem to me to be quite your style. There ain't no Buffalo Bill, Pathfinder business about him. If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I don't think it's cricket his winning all that foreign lady's jewellery at cards, nohow."
"That's none of your business, Bottles."
"Sorry, sir. But I can't help seeing and thinking when I do see. And what's a swell like him doing down here, I'd like to know?"
"You'd better ask him."
"And get a clip on the ears for my pains, sir. Not me. Though I dessay he ain't the cove to hit out."
"Too kind-hearted?" asked Hench, amused.
"Well," said Bottles slowly, "I shouldn't use them words myself. Mr. Spruce is the kind of feller who'd trip you up when you wasn't looking; but I don't think he'd meet any one's eye
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