little cases.”
Arrived by this time in Mr. Wegg’s sitting-room, made bright on the chilly evening by gaslight and fire, Mr. Venus softens and compliments him on his abode; profiting by the occasion to remind Wegg that he (Venus) told him he had got into a good thing.
“Tolerable,” Wegg rejoins. “But bear in mind, Mr. Venus, that there’s no gold without its alloy. Mix for yourself and take a seat in the chimbley-corner. Will you perform upon a pipe, sir?”
“I am but an indifferent performer, sir,” returns the other; “but I’ll accompany you with a whiff or two at intervals.”
So, Mr. Venus mixes, and Wegg mixes; and Mr. Venus lights and puffs, and Wegg lights and puffs.
“And there’s alloy even in this metal of yours, Mr. Wegg, you was remarking?”
“Mystery,” returns Wegg. “I don’t like it, Mr. Venus. I don’t like to have the life knocked out of former inhabitants of this house, in the gloomy dark, and not know who did it.”