ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. During this period Sir Montacute has been gathered to his fathers. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami.
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