“ Mr. Boffin?” inquired Venus, with a glance towards the alligator’s yard or two of smile.

“Mister be blowed!” cried Wegg, yielding to his honest indignation. “Boffin. Dusty Boffin. That foxey old grunter and grinder, sir, turns into the yard this morning, to meddle with our property, a menial tool of his own, a young man by the name of Sloppy. Ecod, when I say to him, ‘What do you want here, young man? This is a private yard,’ he pulls out a paper from Boffin’s other blackguard, the one I was passed over for. ‘This is to authorize Sloppy to overlook the carting and to watch the work.’ That’s pretty strong, I think, Mr. Venus?”

“Remember he doesn’t know yet of our claim on the property,” suggested Venus.