"Working for Caniche, eh? That's the same thing, just the same thing! Ive heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get old of you, eh? This is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you call 'em--reapers? That's it! reapers, and a little child. Some story, eh? O, ah! Tennyson; I don't know him--not bad, by Jove! not half bad it's Caniche's?"
"Yes; that's Caniche's commission."
"Give you fifty more than he's given to make it over to me. You won't, of course not, you silly feller! it's only my joke. But look here, mind you give me the refusal of the next. I can do better for you than Caniche. He's a poor paltry chap. I go in for great things,--that's my way, Mr. Bowker."
"Is it?" growled old William over his pipe; "then you go in also for great pay, Mr. Stompff, I suppose?"
"Ask your friend Ludlow about that. He'll tell you whether I pay handsomely or not, sir.--By the way, how is your friend Ludlow Potts?"
"He's all right, I believe."
"And his wife, how's she?"
There was something in his tone and in the expression of his eyes which made Mr. Potts say:
"Mrs. Ludlow is going on very well, I believe," in a tone of seriousness very unusual with Charley.
"That's all right," said Mr. Stompff. "Going on very well, eh? Every body will be glad to hear that, and Ludlow in partickler. Going on very well--in a regular domestic quiet manner, eh? That's all right. Hasn't been much used to the domestic style before her marriage, I should think, eh?"