Mr. Levi entered first, with his lazy smile showing his glittering fangs, and his fierce, cunning, prominent eyes swept the room, and rested on Mr. Dingwell. Putting down his hat on the middle of the narrow table, he stooped across, extending his lank arm and long hand toward the white-headed old man with the broad forehead and lean brown face, who happened to turn to the chimney-piece just then, to look for a paper, and so did not shake hands.
"And Mr. Larkin?" said Mr. Dingwell, with the same smile, as he turned about and saw that slim, bald, pink-eyed impersonation of Christianity overtopping the dark and glossy representative of the Mosaic dispensation.
"Sit down, pray—though—eh?—has my friend, Miss Rumble, left us chairs enough?" said Mr. Dingwell, looking from corner to corner.
"Quite ample; thanks, many thanks," answered Mr. Larkin, who chose, benignantly, to take this attention to himself. "Three chairs, yes, and three of us; pray, Mr. Dingwell, don't take any trouble."
"Oh! thank you; but I was not thinking of taking any trouble, only I should not like to be left without a chair. Miss Sarah Rumble, I dare say she's very virtuous, but she's not brilliant," he continued as he approached. "There, for instance, her pot-house habits! She leaves my old hat on the centre of the table!" and with a sudden sweep of the ebony stem of his long pipe, he knocked Mr. Levi's hat upon the floor, and kicked it into the far corner of the room.
"Da-a-am it; that'sh my hat!" said Mr. Levi, looking after it.
"So much the better for me," said Mr. Dingwell, with an agreeable smile and a nod.
"An error—quite a mistake," interposed Mr. Larkin, with officious politeness. "Shall I pick it up, Mr. Levi?"
"Leave it lay," said Mr. Levi, sulkily; "no use now. It's got its allowance, I expect."
"Gentlemen, you'll not detain me longer than is necessary, if you please, because I hate business, on principle, as a Jew does ham—I beg pardon Mr. Levi, I forgot for a moment—the greatest respect for your religion, but I do hate business as I hate an attorney—'Gad! there is my foot in it again: Mr. Larkin, no reflection, I assure you, on your excellent profession, which everyone respects. But life's made up of hours: they're precious, and I don't want to spoil 'em."