“Was you, indeed?” said Mr. Wegg, dubiously.

“Not in a dishonourable way, Wegg, because you was singing to the butcher; and you wouldn’t sing secrets to a butcher in the street, you know.”

“It never happened that I did so yet, to the best of my remembrance,” said Mr. Wegg, cautiously. “But I might do it. A man can’t say what he might wish to do some day or another.” (This, not to release any little advantage he might derive from Mr. Boffin’s avowal.)

“Well,” repeated Boffin, “I was a listening to you and to him. And what do you⁠—you haven’t got another stool, have you? I’m rather thick in my breath.”

“I haven’t got another, but you’re welcome to this,” said Wegg, resigning it. “It’s a treat to me to stand.”