CHAPTER XXVIL
The return.

RTHUR JOLLYBOY, Esquire, of the Old
Hulk, sat on the top of a tall three-legged
stool in his own snug little office in the sea-port
town of Bilton, with his legs swinging to and fro ;
his socks displayed a considerable way above the
tops of his gaiters; his hands thrust deep into his
breeches pockets; his spectacles high on his bald
forehead, and his eyes looking through the open
letter that lay before him—through the desk under-
neath it—through the plank floor, cellars, and foun-
dations of the edifice—and through the entire world
into the distant future beyond.

“Four thousand pair of socks,’ he murmured,
pulling down his spectacles and consulting the open
letter for the tenth time; “four thousand pair of
socks, with the hitch, same as last bale, but a very
little coarser in material.”

“Four thousand pair! and who's to make them, 1