Turning his back and turning a key, Mr. Venus produced the document, holding on by his usual corner. Mr. Wegg, holding on by the opposite corner, sat down on the seat so lately vacated by Mr. Boffin, and looked it over. “All right, sir,” he slowly and unwillingly admitted, in his reluctance to loose his hold, “all right!” And greedily watched his partner as he turned his back again, and turned his key again.
“There’s nothing new, I suppose?” said Venus, resuming his low chair behind the counter.
“Yes there is, sir,” replied Wegg; “there was something new this morning. That foxey old grasper and griper—”
“ Mr. Boffin?” inquired Venus, with a glance towards the alligator’s yard or two of smile.
“Mister be blowed!” cried Wegg, yielding to his honest indignation. “Boffin. Dusty Boffin. That foxey old grunter and grinder, sir, turns into the yard this morning, to meddle with our property, a menial tool of his own, a young man by the name of Sloppy. Ecod, when I say to him, ‘What do you want here, young man? This is a