“Your unfortunate suspicions, Mr. Boffin—” began the Secretary.
“Precious unfortunate for you , I can tell you,” said Mr. Boffin.
“—are not to be combated by anyone, and I address myself to no such hopeless task. But I will say a word upon the truth.”
“Yah! Much you care about the truth,” said Mr. Boffin, with a snap of his fingers.
“Noddy! My dear love!” expostulated his wife.
“Old lady,” returned Mr. Boffin, “you keep still. I say to this Rokesmith here, much he cares about the truth. I tell him again, much he cares about the truth.”
“Our connection being at an end, Mr. Boffin,” said the Secretary, “it can be of very little moment to me what you say.”
“Oh! You are knowing enough,” retorted Mr. Boffin, with a sly look, “to have found out that our connection’s at an end, eh? But you can’t get beforehand with me. Look at this in my hand. This is your pay, on your discharge. You can only follow suit. You can’t deprive me of the lead. Let’s have no pretending that you discharge yourself. I discharge you.”
“So that I go,” remarked the Secretary, waving the point aside with his hand, “it is all one to me.”
“Is it?” said Mr. Boffin. “But it’s two to me, let me tell you. Allowing a fellow that’s found out, to discharge himself, is one thing; discharging him for insolence and presumption, and likewise for designs upon his master’s money, is another. One and one’s two; not one. (Old lady, don’t you cut in. You keep still.)”
“Have you said all you wish to say to me?” demanded the Secretary.