“Have you any more?” said Archer.
“Yes, plenty. Let down quick! I’ve got the tailor’s bag full, which is three times as large as yours, and I’ve changed clothes with the tailor’s boy; so nobody took notice of me as I came down the street.”
“There’s my own cousin!” exclaimed Archer, “there’s a noble fellow! there’s my own cousin, I acknowledge. Fill the bag, then.” Several times the bag descended and ascended; and at every unlading of the crane, fresh acclamations were heard.
“I have no more!” at length the boy with the tailor’s bag cried.
“Off with you, then; we’ve enough, and thank you.”
A delightful review was now made of their treasure. Busy hands arranged and sorted the heterogeneous mass. Archer, in the height of his glory, looked on, the acknowledged master of the whole. Townsend, who, in his prosperity as in adversity, saw and enjoyed the comic foibles of his friends, pushed De Grey, who was looking on with a more good-natured and more thoughtful air. “Friend,” said he, “you look like a great philosopher, and Archer a great hero.”
“And you, Townsend,” said Archer, “may look like a wit, if you will; but you will never be a hero.”
“No, no,” replied Townsend; “wits were never heroes, because they are wits. You are out of your wits, and therefore may set up for a hero.”
“Laugh, and welcome. I’m not a tyrant. I don’t want to restrain anybody’s wit; but I cannot say I admire puns.”
“Nor I, either,” said the time serving Fisher, sidling up to the manager, and picking the ice off a piece of plum-cake, “nor I either; I hate puns. I can never understand Townsend’s puns. Besides, anybody can make puns; and one doesn’t want wit, either, at all times; for instance, when one is going to settle about dinner, or business of consequence. Bless us all, Archer!” continued he, with sudden familiarity; “what a sight of good things are here! I’m sure we are much obliged to you and your cousin. I never thought he’d have come. Why, now we can hold out as long as you please. Let us see,” said he, dividing the provisions upon the table; “we can hold out to-day, and all to-morrow, and part of next day, maybe. Why, now we may defy the doctor and the Greybeards. The doctor will surely give up to us; for, you see, he knows nothing of all this, and he’ll think we are starving all this while; and he’d be afraid, you see, to let us starve quite, in reality, for three whole days, because of what would be said in the town. My Aunt Barbara, for one, would be at him long before that time was out; and besides, you know, in that case, he’d be hanged for murder, which is quite another thing, in law, from a Barring Out, you know.”