“Change of air, sea-scenery, and my natural rest, I hope may bring me round after the persecutions I have undergone from the dustman with his head tied up, which I just now mentioned. The tough job being ended and the Mounds laid low, the hour is come for Boffin to stump up. Would ten tomorrow morning suit you, partner, for finally bringing Boffin’s nose to the grindstone?”
Ten tomorrow morning would quite suit Mr. Venus for that excellent purpose.
“You have had him well under inspection, I hope?” said Silas.
Mr. Venus had had him under inspection pretty well every day.
“Suppose you was just to step round tonight then, and give him orders from me—I say from me, because he knows I won’t be played with—to be ready with his papers, his accounts, and his cash, at that time in the morning?” said Wegg. “And as a matter of form, which will be agreeable to your own feelings, before we go out (for I’ll walk with you part of the way, though my leg gives under me with weariness), let’s have a look at the stock in trade.”
Mr. Venus produced it, and it was perfectly correct; Mr. Venus undertook to produce it again in the morning, and to keep tryst with Mr. Wegg on Boffin’s doorstep as the clock struck ten. At a certain point of the road between Clerkenwell and Boffin’s house ( Mr. Wegg expressly insisted that there should be no prefix to the Golden Dustman’s name) the partners separated for the night.
It was a very bad night; to which succeeded a very bad morning. The streets were so unusually slushy, muddy, and miserable, in the morning, that Wegg rode to the scene of action; arguing that a man who was, as it were, going to the Bank to draw out a handsome property, could well afford that trifling expense.