“Why look here,” hooking his proposition on his left-hand fingers with the forefinger of his right. “There’s two Governors, ain’t there? One and one, two⁠—Lawyer Lightwood, my first finger, he’s one, ain’t he? Well; might you be acquainted with my middle finger, the t’other?”

“I know quite as much of him,” said Bradley, with a frown and a distant look before him, “as I want to know.”

“Hooroar!” cried the man. “Hooroar t’other t’other Governor. Hooroar t’otherest Governor! I am of your way of thinkin’.”

“Don’t make such a noise at this dead hour of the night. What are you talking about?”

“Look here, t’otherest Governor,” replied the man, becoming hoarsely confidential. “The t’other Governor he’s always joked his jokes agin me, owing, as I believe, to my being a honest man as gets my living by the sweat of my brow. Which he ain’t, and he don’t.”