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"What is the matter?" said the man who had caused Miss Pross to

scream; speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone),

and in English.

"Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!" cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands

again. "After not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so

long a time, do I find you here!"

"Don't call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?" asked

the man, in a furtive, frightened way.

"Brother, brother!" cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. "Have

I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel

question?"

"Then hold your meddlesome tongue," said Solomon, "and come out,

if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and come out.

Who's this man?"

Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by no

means affectionate brother, said through her tears, "Mr.

Cruncher."

"Let him come out too," said Solomon. "Does he think me a ghost?"