“I know I am, sir,” returned Wegg, with obstinate magnanimity. “I am acquainted with my faults. I always was, from a child, too sensitive.”
“But listen,” pursued the Golden Dustman; “hear me out, Wegg. You have taken it into your head that I mean to pension you off.”
“True, sir,” returned Wegg, still with an obstinate magnanimity. “I am acquainted with my faults. Far be it from me to deny them. I have taken it into my head.”
“But I don’t mean it.”
The assurance seemed hardly as comforting to Mr. Wegg, as Mr. Boffin intended it to be. Indeed, an appreciable elongation of his visage might have been observed as he replied:
“Don’t you, indeed, sir?”
“No,” pursued Mr. Boffin; “because that would express, as I understand it, that you were not going to do anything to deserve your money. But you