"And I'm happy to say a thriving one," I replied.
"Are you satisfied—perfectly satisfied?" demanded he.
"Beyond my wishes, sir."
"I am not," said he shortly.
"No, sir?" exclaimed I, with surprise.
"No, Sir!" repeated he. "Those who sow should reap. I've no children—I'm an idle fellow—a drone, sir—and won't consent to consume all the honey. Don't speak, sir—read that!" and he pulled a parchment from his pocket.
It was a deed of partnership between Cornelius Crobble, of Lodge, Hertfordshire, Esquire, and the poor cobbler's son,
ANDREW MULLINS.
A RIGMAROLE.—PART I.
"De omnibus rebus."