Wutzler, ready and certain of his ground, led the tortuous way through narrow and greasy galleries, along the side of a wall, and at last through an unlighted gate, free of the town.
In the moonlight he stared at his companion, cackled, clapped his thighs, and bent double in unholy convulsions.
"My gracious me!" He laughed immoderately.

"Oh, I wait zo fearful, you kom zo fonny!" For a while he clung, shaking, to the young man's arm.
"My friendt, zo fonny you look! My gootness me!" At last he regained himself, stood quiet, and added very pointedly, "What did _yow_ lern ?" "Nothing," replied Heywood, angrily.

"Nothing.

Fragrant Ones! Not a bad name.

Phew!--Oh, I say, what did they mean?
What Black Dog is to bark ?" "Black Dog?
Black Dog iss cannon." The man became, once more, as keen as a gossip.