“As a fellow-man, Mr. Venus—mix again—why neither?”
“Because I suppose, sir, that what was found, was found in the sorting and sifting. All the mounds are sorted and sifted?”
“You shall see ’em and pass your opinion. Mix again.”
On each occasion of his saying “mix again,” Mr. Wegg, with a hop on his wooden leg, hitches his chair a little nearer; more as if he were proposing that himself and Mr. Venus should mix again, than that they should replenish their glasses.
“Living (as I said before) on the mysterious premises,” says Wegg when the other has acted on his hospitable entreaty, “one likes to know. Would you be inclined to say now—as a brother—that he ever hid things in the dust, as well as found ’em?”
“ Mr. Wegg, on the whole I should say he might.”
Mr. Wegg claps on his spectacles, and