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ALBERT was by no means his cheery self, indeed Albert was a very worried young man and let this be the excuse—if indeed one is needed—for his presence, at an unusually early hour of the December evening, moodily supping a tankard of well brewed hops and malt in the saloon bar of the Tacklers Arms. Our hero brooded over his beer while all around early drinkers, websters and slubbers, weft scroddlers and tacket fitters held decorous wassail.