“Bof⁠—fin!” replied Wegg, turning upon him with a severe air, “I understand your newborn boldness. I see the brass underneath your silver plating. You have got your nose out of joint. Knowing that you’ve nothing at stake, you can afford to come the independent game. Why, you’re just so much smeary glass to see through, you know! But Mr. Harmon is in another sitiwation. What Mr. Harmon risks, is quite another pair of shoes. Now, I’ve heerd something lately about this being Mr. Harmon⁠—I make out now, some hints that I’ve met on that subject in the newspaper⁠—and I drop you, Bof⁠—fin, as beneath my notice. I ask Mr. Harmon whether he has any idea of the contents of this present paper?”