While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. I’ll walk over there once I change clothes. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. " "May I trust you?" cried Thames, eagerly. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg.
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