“That there committee,” said Mr. Blows to his wife, in a trembling voice, as he heard of the alteration—­“that there committee seem to think that they can play about with my money as they like.  You go and tell ’em you won’t ’ave it.  And say you’ve given up the idea of going to Australia and you want the money to open a shop with.  We’ll take a little pub somewhere.”

Mrs. Blows went, and returned in tears, and for two entire days her husband, a prey to gloom, sat trying to evolve fresh and original ideas for the possession of the money.  On the evening of the second day he became low-spirited, and going down to the kitchen took a glass from the dresser and sat down by the beer-cask.

Almost insensibly he began to take a brighter view of things.  It was Saturday night and his wife was out.  He shook his head indulgently as he thought of her, and began to realise how foolish he had been to entrust such a delicate mission to a woman.  The Ancient Order of Camels wanted a man to talk to them—­a man who knew the world and could assail them with unanswerable arguments.  Having applied every known test to make sure that the cask was empty, he took his cap from a nail and sallied out into the street.

Old Mrs. Martin, a neighbour, saw him first, and announced the fact with a scream that brought a dozen people round her.  Bereft of speech, she mouthed dumbly at Mr. Blows.

“I ain’t touch—­touched her,” said that gentleman, earnestly.  “I ain’t—­ been near ’er.”

The crowd regarded him wild-eyed.  Fresh members came running up, and pushing for a front place fell back hastily on the main body and watched breathlessly.  Mr. Blows, disquieted by their silence, renewed his protestations.

“I was coming ’long——­”

He broke off suddenly and, turning round, gazed with some heat at a gentleman who was endeavouring to ascertain whether an umbrella would pass through him.  The investigator backed hastily into the crowd again, and a faint murmur of surprise arose as the indignant Mr. Blows rubbed the place.

“He’s alive, I tell you,” said a voice.  “What cheer, Jack!”

“Ullo, Bill,” said Mr. Blows, genially.

Bill came forward cautiously, and, first shaking hands, satisfied himself by various little taps and prods that his friend was really alive.

“It’s all right,” he shouted; “come and feel.”

At least fifty hands accepted the invitation, and, ignoring the threats and entreaties of Mr. Blows, who was a highly ticklish subject, wandered briskly over his anatomy.  He broke free at last and, supported by Bill and a friend, set off for the Peal o’ Bells.

By the time he arrived there his following had swollen to immense proportions.  Windows were thrown up, and people standing on their doorsteps shouted inquiries.  Congratulations met him on all sides, and the joy of Mr. Joseph Carter was so great that Mr. Blows was quite affected.