On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in the city were striking nine individually,and somewhere about nine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air in George Yard,when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove up,out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the reins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman, who seemed made for the vehicle,and the vehicle for him.