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116, which was directed not so much at him (for he was unrecognized) as at the uniform he wore.

"Don't you know me, lads?" he said, "Pounce—John Pounce!"

"John Pounce!" exclaimed the five clerks. "Lord! you don't say so?" And sufficiently hearty greetings ensued, for John had been a sort of favourite in his way.

Inquiries as to what events had occurred since he left the office followed; and one, more hearty than the rest, saw in young John's return a reason for standing much beer.

"Where's Shab?" asked the hearty clerk. "Send him here, somebody!"

And somebody went for Shab.

"Who's Shab?" said John.

"Shab? Oh! You know—no, he's since your time. Oh! he's a rum 'un is Shab. He runs errands, and fetches beer, and posts letters, and does odd jobs. Shab ain't his name—its affectionate for shabby genteel—so called because he looks like a Member of Parliament down on his luck."

And the door opened, and Shab introduced his head.

"Want me, gentlemen? Anything I can do?" "Here, Shab, old boy, a gallon of beer, and you so much as look at it and I'll knock your empty old head off. D'ye hear?"

This was a coarse speech, but it was not said unkindly. Shab was a general favourite, for he was always at hand when wanted, and never grumbled at his honorarium. He had seen better days, as the saying is, having