A SHOCK TO MR.

WADDINGTON Punctually at nine o'clock on the following morning, Alfred Burton, after a night spent in a very unsatisfactory lodging-house, hung up his gray Homburg on the peg consecrated to the support of his discarded silk hat, and prepared to plunge into his work.

The office-boy, who had been stricken dumb at his senior's appearance, recovered himself at last sufficiently for speech.
"My eye!" he exclaimed.

"Whose clothes have you been stealing?
What have you been up to, eh?
Committing a burglary or a murder ?" Burton shook his head.
"Nothing of the sort," he replied pleasantly.

"The fact is I came to the conclusion that my late style of dress, as you yourself somewhat eloquently pointed out yesterday, was unbecoming." The boy seemed a little dazed.
"You look half way between a toff and an artist!" he declared.