“ ‘The Treasures,’ sir,” repeated Silas, reading very distinctly, “ ‘of a Dunghill.’ Mr. Venus, sir, would you obleege with the snuffers?” This, to secure attention to his adding with his lips only, “Mounds!”
Mr. Boffin drew an armchair into the space where he stood, and said, seating himself and slyly rubbing his hands:
“Give us Dancer.”
Mr. Wegg pursued the biography of that eminent man through its various phases of avarice and dirt, through Miss Dancer’s death on a sick regimen of cold dumpling, and through Mr. Dancer’s keeping his rags together with a hayband, and warming his dinner by sitting upon it, down to the consolatory incident of his dying naked in a sack. After which he read on as follows:
“ ‘The house, or rather the heap of ruins, in which Mr. Dancer lived, and which at his death devolved to the right of Captain Holmes, was a most miserable, decayed building, for it had not been repaired for more than half a century.’ ”
(Here Mr. Wegg eyes his comrade and the room in which they sat: which had not been repaired for a long time.)
“ ‘But though poor in external structure, the ruinous fabric was very rich in the interior. It took many weeks to explore its whole contents; and Captain Holmes found it a very agreeable task to dive into the miser’s secret hoards.’ ”
(Here Mr. Wegg repeated “secret hoards,” and pegged his comrade again.)
“ ‘One of Mr. Dancer’s richest escretoires was found to be a dungheap in the cowhouse; a sum but little short