Volume Three—Chapter Eight.
Waste-Paper.
“Well, yes, sir,” said Matt, standing hat in hand, “’tis snug and comfortable, sir; and I’m glad to see the change, and I’m sure I wish you long life to enjoy it. Glad you’ve got here all right, sir; and sorry I was too weak to help you move. I’ve got the address down all right in my memo-book: look here, sir—150 Essex-street, Strand, sir.”
“And now we’ll go, then, Matt,” said Septimus, rising.
“Go, sir?” said Matt.
“Yes,” said Septimus, “if you will; for the thing has been too long neglected already.”
“Very true, sir,” said Matt: “but you told me as the parson, sir, Mr Sterne, was going to take it in hand; and if so—”
“Now, Matt,” said Septimus appealingly, “isn’t he lying upon a bed of sickness, weak and helpless, and unable to move?”
“Well, yes, sir, that’s true; and a rum start that was, too. Wonder who would have a spite against him? But I thought that now, sir, as you’d—”