"Mr. Tag-rag"—said Gammon, lowering his voice, and looking very earnestly at his companion—"can I say a word to you in confidence—the strictest confidence?"
"What's it about, sir?" inquired Tag-rag, somewhat apprehensively.
"I dare say you may have felt, perhaps, rather surprised at the interest which I—in fact our office, the office of Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, in Saffron Hill—appear to have taken in Mr. Titmouse."
"Why, sir, it's your look-out to see how you're to be paid for what you're doing—and I dare say lawyers generally keep a pretty sharp look-out in that direction!"
Gammon smiled, and continued—"It may, perhaps, a little surprise you, Mr. Tag-rag, to hear that your present (ought I to say, your late?) shopman, Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse, is at this moment probably the very luckiest man—and one among the richest, too—in this kingdom."
"Why—you don't mean to say he's drawn a prize in the lottery?"—exclaimed Tag-rag, pricking up his ears, and manifestly changing color.
"Pho! my dear sir, that is a mere bagatelle compared with the good fortune which has just fallen to his lot. I solemnly assure you, that I believe it will very shortly turn out that he is at this moment the undoubted owner of an estate worth at least ten thousand a-year, besides a vast accumulation of ready money!"
"Ten thousand a-year, sir!—My Titmouse!—Tittlebat Titmouse!—Ten thousand a-year! it's quite impossible!" faltered Tag-rag, after a pause, having gone as pale as death.
"I have as little doubt of the fact, however, sir, as I have that you yesterday turned him out of doors, Mr. Tag-rag!"
"But"—said Mr. Tag-rag, in a low tone—"who could have dreamed it?—How was—really, Mr. Gammon!—how was I to know it?"