“Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,” said Mr. John Smauker. “Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Weller.”
“Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,” said Mr. Tuckle, with a familiar nod. “Hope you’re not cold, Weller?”
“Not by no means, Blazes,” replied Sam. “It ’ud be a wery chilly subject as felt cold ven you stood opposit. You’d save coals if they put you behind the fender in the waitin’ room at a public office, you would.”
As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion to Mr. Tuckle’s crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic for a few seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke into a forced smile, and said it wasn’t bad.
“Wery much obliged for your good opinion, sir,” replied Sam. “We shall get on by degrees, I des-say. We’ll try a better one, by-and-by.”
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by another selection in purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking. The new comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr. Tuckle put the question that supper be ordered in, which was carried unanimously.
The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table a boiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and potatoes. Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the other end of the board by the gentleman in orange plush. The greengrocer put on a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the plates with, and stationed himself behind Mr. Tuckle’s chair.
“Harris,” said Mr. Tuckle in a commanding tone.
“Sir?” said the greengrocer.