Tuesday morning, about eight o'clock
replied Wilkinson ; `` no sir , but my pocket chess box will be at your service . '' `` Chess be hanged , '' said the lawyer ; `` but , see here , are they checkers when you turn them upside down ? If they are , it 's I 'm your man . '' On Tuesday morning , about eight o'clock , there appeared at the Brock Street Station of the Northern Railway , two well-dressed men with shiny knapsacks on their shoulders . They had no blackthorns , for Wilkinson had said it would be much more romantic to cut their own sticks in the bush , to which Coristine had replied that , if the bush was as full of mosquitos as one he had known , he would cut his stick fast enough . They were the astonishment , rather than the admiration , of all beholders , who regarded them as agents , and characterized the way in which they carried their samples as the latest thing from the States . For a commencement , this was humiliating , so that the jaunty lawyer twisted his moustache fiercely , and felt inclined to quarrel with the self-possessed , clean-shaven space between Wilkinson 's elaborate side-whiskers .