Cheeseman made an incision, then laid down his knife and gloated over his plate.
'Hood,' he said, with much solemnity, 'you've done me many a kindness, old friend, but this caps all.

I'm bound to you for life and death.

I should have wandered about these streets a starving man.' The other laughed still; he had a fit of laughter on him; he had not laughed so since he was young.
'Stout-and-mild is my drink, Hood,' remarked Cheeseman, suggestively.
'It has body, and I need the support.' They each had a pint, served in the native pewter.

When Cheeseman had taken a deep draught he leaned forward across the table.
'Hood, I don't forget it; never you believe that I forget it, however appearances may be against me ?' 'Forget what ?--give me the mustard, as soon as you can spare it; ha, ha!' 'That ten-pound note!' Hood dropped his knife and fork.
'What on earth's up?
You look just like you did when I clapped you o' the shoulder.

Your nerves are out of order, old friend.' 'Why, so they are.