"Who's he?" said Mr. Jaggers. "Let go of my coat."

     The suitor, kissing the hem of the garment again before relinquishing it, replied, "Habraham Latharuth, on thuthpithion of plate."

     "You're too late," said Mr. Jaggers. "I am over the way."

     "Holy father, Mithter Jaggerth!" cried my excitable acquaintance, turning white, "don't thay you're again Habraham Latharuth!"

     "I am," said Mr. Jaggers, "and there's an end of it. Get out of the way."

     "Mithter Jaggerth! Half a moment! My hown cuthen'th gone to Mithter Wemmick at thith prethent minute, to hoffer him hany termth. Mithter Jaggerth! Half a quarter of a moment! If you'd have the condethenthun to be bought off from the t'other thide--at hany thuperior prithe!--money no object!--Mithter Jaggerth--Mithter--!"

     My guardian threw his supplicant off with supreme indifference, and left him dancing on the pavement as if it were red hot. Without further interruption, we reached the front office, where we found the clerk and the man in velveteen with the fur cap.

     "Here's Mike," said the clerk, getting down from his stool, and approaching Mr. Jaggers confidentially.