the best, he took my opinion to guide his choice, and we went over the collection together. To be sure we did. Here was him as it might be, and here was myself as it might be, and there was you, Mr. Boffin, as you identically are, with your selfsame stick under your very same arm, and your very same back towards us. To—be—sure!” added Mr. Wegg, looking a little round Mr. Boffin, to take him in the rear, and identify this last extraordinary coincidence, “your wery selfsame back!”
“What do you think I was doing, Wegg?”
“I should judge, sir, that you might be glancing your eye down the street.”
“No, Wegg. I was a listening.”
“Was you, indeed?” said Mr. Wegg, dubiously.
“Not in a dishonourable way, Wegg, because you was singing to the butcher; and you wouldn’t sing secrets to a butcher in the street, you know.”