“Oh, werry well, sir,” replied Sam, “we shan’t be bankrupts, and we shan’t make our fort’ns. We eats our biled mutton without capers, and don’t care for horse-radish ven ve can get beef.”
“Ah,” said the little man, “you’re a wag, an’t you?”
“My eldest brother was troubled with that complaint,” said Sam; “it may be catching—I used to sleep with him.”
“This is a curious old house of yours,” said the little man, looking around him.
“If you’d sent word you was coming, we’d ha’ had it repaired,” replied the imperturbable Sam.
The little man seemed rather baffled by these several repulses, and a short consultation took place between him and the two plump gentlemen. At its conclusion, the little man took a pinch of snuff from an oblong silver box, and was apparently on the point of renewing the conversation, when one of the plump gentlemen, who in addition to a benevolent countenance, possessed a pair of spectacles, and a pair of black gaiters, interfered—
“The fact of the matter is,” said the benevolent gentleman, “that my friend here (pointing to the other plump gentleman) will give you half a guinea, if you’ll answer one or two——”
“Now, my dear sir—my dear sir,” said the little man, “pray, allow me—my dear sir, the very first principle to be observed in these cases, is this: if you place a matter in the hands of a professional man, you must in no way interfere in the progress of the business; you must repose implicit confidence in him. Really, Mr. (he turned to the other plump gentleman, and said)—I forget your friend’s name.”
“Pickwick,” said Mr. Wardle, for it was no other than that jolly personage.
“Ah, Pickwick—really, Mr. Pickwick, my dear sir, excuse me—I shall be happy to receive any private suggestions of yours, as amicus curiæ, but you must see the impropriety of your interfering with my conduct in this case, with such an ad captandum argument as the offer of half a guinea. Really, my dear sir, really;” and the little man took an argumentative pinch of snuff, and looked very profound.