"Wery probable," says the turnkey, smoking his pipe wery fierce, and making believe he warn't up to wot the little man wanted.

"Bill," says the little man, more abrupt than afore, "I've got the fancy in my head.

Let me see the public streets once more afore I die; and if I ain't struck with apoplexy, I'll be back in five minits by the clock." "And wot 'ud become o' me if you WOS struck with apoplexy ?" said the turnkey.

"Wy," says the little creetur, "whoever found me, 'ud bring me home, for I've got my card in my pocket, Bill," he says, "No.

20, Coffee-room Flight": and that wos true, sure enough, for wen he wanted to make the acquaintance of any new-comer, he used to pull out a little limp card vith them words on it and nothin' else; in consideration of vich, he vos alvays called Number Tventy.