“And you come, brother,” said Mr. Wegg, in a hospitable glow, “you come like I don’t know what⁠—exactly like it⁠—I shouldn’t know you from it⁠—shedding a halo all around you.”

“What kind of halo?” asked Mr. Venus.

“ ’Ope sir,” replied Silas. “That’s your halo.”

Mr. Venus appeared doubtful on the point, and looked rather discontentedly at the fire.

“We’ll devote the evening, brother,” exclaimed Wegg, “to prosecute our friendly move. And arterwards, crushing a flowing wine-cup⁠—which I allude to brewing rum and water⁠—we’ll pledge one another. For what says the poet?