In the morning they returned to their home and avocations, on the best possible terms with each other. The first thing they espied was the bill in the parlour-window, again clearly proclaiming the removal of the small man, his gaiters, and his huge umbrella; but where he went is yet a mystery—at least to the two ladies, who never saw him afterwards.
The watchful proceedings of the policeman—disagreeable situation of Miss Waggett—the pious landlady—abuse—turning out—a kind reception—extraordinary coincidence—the small man’s delinquency—the alarm—"exposé"—departure of the small man—and his huge umbrella—lodgings to let, and the sequel.
It was not long before the small man, his huge umbrella, and short gaiters, reached the public-house, and after having had one more tumbler of grog, he enquired to be shown to his room, and forthwith tumbled into bed.
Shewing how Miss Waggett again met with the small man—his politeness, gallantry, liberality, &c. &c.—The arrival of Miss Pivett—her resolve—departure of her friends—the drunken landlord—a mistake—an alarm—the alarm general—a discovery—awkward situation of the small man, &c. sauntered in dudgeon from the garden, without having decided what course to pursue, or what path to take. She proceeded into the City-road, cogitating whether she should go home, or to her aunt’s in Pancras, or to her mother’s in Stepney-fields. While thus engaged, the storm was fast subsiding within, but gathering without. The rain came down in large drops, and no gateway or door presented itself to shelter her—for in that part of the road long gardens with iron railings protect the fronts of the houses. At this critical moment, who should approach, most opportunely, but the small man with his huge umbrella.