You have just taken in a lodger I have been speaking to; an infirm woman with a cough.' 'Puffer,' assents Deputy, with a shrewd leer of recognition, and smoking an imaginary pipe, with his head very much on one side and his eyes very much out of their places: 'Hopeum Puffer.' 'What is her name ?' ''Er Royal Highness the Princess Puffer.' 'She has some other name than that; where does she live ?' 'Up in London.

Among the Jacks.' 'The sailors ?' 'I said so; Jacks; and Chayner men: and hother Knifers.' 'I should like to know, through you, exactly where she lives.' 'All right.

Give us 'old.' A shilling passes; and, in that spirit of confidence which should pervade all business transactions between principals of honour, this piece of business is considered done.
'But here's a lark!' cries Deputy.

'Where did yer think 'Er Royal Highness is a-goin' to to-morrow morning?
Blest if she ain't a-goin' to the KIN-FREE-DER-EL!' He greatly prolongs the word in his ecstasy, and smites his leg, and doubles himself up in a fit of shrill laughter.
'How do you know that, Deputy ?' 'Cos she told me so just now.

She said she must be hup and hout o' purpose.