Why, here was "the whole boiling of 'em!"
Mr. Gammon eagerly jotted down the particulars in his notebook, and
swallowed the whisky at his side with gusto. Not once, however, had
he asked himself why this man of guiles and freaks chose to mask
under the name of Clover, an omission to be accounted for not by any
lack of wit, but by mere educational defect. He could not have been
further from suspecting that his utterance of the name Clover had
given his genealogical friend a most important clue, and a long
start in the search for the missing man.
Impatiently he awaited the early nightfall of the morrow. Business
had to be attended to as usual; but he went about with a bearing of
extraordinary animation, now laughing to himself, now snapping his
fingers, now (when he chanced to be out of people's sight) twirling
round on one leg. Either of yesterday's events would have sufficed
to exhilarate him; together they whipped his blood and frothed his
fancy. He had found Clover, who was a lord! He had won the love of
Polly Sparkes, who was the finest girl living! Did ever the bagman
of an oil and colour firm speed about his duties with such springs
of excitement bubbling within him?
And Mrs.
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