“The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me,” said Mr. Pell.
“And wery creditable in him, too,” interposed Mr. Weller.
“Hear, hear,” assented Mr. Pell’s client. “Why shouldn’t he be?”
“Ah! Why, indeed!” said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. “Why shouldn’t he?”
A murmur of assent ran through the company.
“I remember, gentlemen,” said Pell, “dining with him on one occasion;—there was only us two, but everything as splendid as if twenty people had been expected—the great seal on a dumb-waiter at his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of armour guarding the mace with a drawn sword and silk stockings—which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and day, when he said, ‘Pell,’ he said, ‘no false delicacy, Pell. You’re a man of talent; you can get anybody through the Insolvent Court, Pell; and your country should be proud of you.’ Those were his very words. ‘My Lord,’ I said, ‘you flatter me.’ ‘Pell,’ he said, ‘if I do, I’m damned.’”
“Did he say that?” inquired Mr. Weller.
“He did,” replied Pell.
“Vell, then,” said Mr. Weller, “I say Parliament ought to ha’ took it up; and if he’d been a poor man, they would ha’ done it.”