Said Fledgeby, looking back at the door and respectfully kissing his hand, “You may depend upon it.”

In fact, Mr. Fledgeby sped on his errand of mercy through the streets, at so brisk a rate that his feet might have been winged by all the good spirits that wait on Generosity. They might have taken up their station in his breast, too, for he was blithe and merry. There was quite a fresh trill in his voice, when, arriving at the countinghouse in St. Mary Axe, and finding it for the moment empty, he trolled forth at the foot of the staircase: “Now, Judah, what are you up to there?”

The old man appeared, with his accustomed deference.

“Halloa!” said Fledgeby, falling back, with a wink. “You mean mischief, Jerusalem!”

The old man raised his eyes inquiringly.