“That’s not going to be done, Wegg,” replied Mr. Boffin, sitting composedly on the library-table, at one end, while the Secretary sat composedly on it at the other.
“Bof—fin! Not going to be done?” repeated Wegg. “Not at your peril?”
“No, Wegg,” said Mr. Boffin, shaking his head good-humouredly. “Not at my peril, and not on any other terms.”
Wegg reflected a moment, and then said: “ Mr. Venus, will you be so good as hand me over that same dockyment?”
“Certainly, sir,” replied Venus, handing it to him with much politeness. “There it is. Having now, sir, parted with it, I wish to make a small observation: not so much because it is anyways necessary, or expresses any new doctrine or discovery, as because it is a comfort to my mind. Silas Wegg, you are a precious old rascal.”
Mr. Wegg, who, as if anticipating a compliment, had been beating time with the paper to the other’s politeness until this unexpected conclusion came upon him, stopped rather abruptly.
“Silas Wegg,” said Venus, “know that I took the liberty of taking Mr. Boffin into our concern as a sleeping partner, at a very early period of our firm’s existence.”
“Quite true,” added Mr. Boffin; “and I tested Venus by making him a pretended proposal or two; and I found him on the whole a very honest man, Wegg.”
“So Mr. Boffin, in his indulgence, is pleased to say,” Venus remarked: “though in the beginning of this dirt, my hands were not, for a few hours, quite as clean as I could wish. But I hope I made early and full amends.”