‘It’s not much trouble to open it, anyhow,’ said Tom, getting out of bed very deliberately. He walked up to one of the presses. The key was in the lock; he turned it, and opened the door. There was a pair of trousers there. He put his hand into the pocket, and drew forth the identical letter the old gentleman had described!

‘Queer sort of thing, this,’ said Tom Smart; looking first at the chair and then at the press, and then at the letter, and then at the chair again. ‘Very queer,’ said Tom. But, as there was nothing in either, to lessen the queerness, he thought he might as well dress himself, and settle the tall man’s business at once—just to put him out of his misery.

Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his way down stairs, with the scrutinizing eye of a landlord; thinking it not impossible, that before long, they and their contents would be his property. The tall man was standing in the snug little bar, with his hands behind him, quite at home. He grinned vacantly at Tom. A casual observer might have supposed he did it, only to show his white teeth; but Tom Smart thought that a consciousness of triumph was passing through the place where the tall man’s mind would have been, if he had had any. Tom laughed in his face; and summoned the landlady.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ said Tom Smart, closing the door of the little parlour as the widow entered.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said the widow. ‘What will you take for breakfast, sir?’

‘Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made no answer.

‘There’s a very nice him,’ said the widow, ‘and a beautiful cold larded fowl. Shall I send ’em in, sir?’

These words roused Tom from his reflections. His admiration of the widow increased as she spoke. Thoughtful creature! Comfortable provider!

‘Who is that gentleman in the bar, ma’am?’ inquired Tom.

‘His name is Jinkins, sir,’ said the widow, slightly blushing.

‘He’s a tall man,’ said Tom.

‘He is a very fine man, sir,’ replied the widow, ‘and a very nice gentleman.’

‘Ah!’ said Tom.

‘Is there anything more you want, sir?’ inquired the widow, rather puzzled by Tom’s manner.

‘Why, yes,’ said Tom. ‘My dear ma’am, will you have the kindness to sit down for one moment?’

The widow looked much amazed, but she sat down, and Tom sat down too, close beside her. I don’t know how it happened, gentlemen—indeed my uncle used to tell me that Tom Smart said he didn’t know how it happened either—but somehow or other the palm of Tom’s hand fell upon the back of the widow’s hand, and remained there while he spoke.

‘My dear ma’am,’ said Tom Smart—he had always a great notion of committing the amiable—‘My dear ma’am, you deserve a very excellent husband;—you do indeed.’

‘Lor, sir!’ said the widow—as well she might: Tom’s mode of commencing the conversation being rather unusual, not to say startling; the fact of his never having set eyes upon her before the previous night, being taken into consideration. ‘Lor, sir!’

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