Arrived by this time in Mr. Wegg’s sitting-room, made bright on the chilly evening by gaslight and fire, Mr. Venus softens and compliments him on his abode; profiting by the occasion to remind Wegg that he (Venus) told him he had got into a good thing.

“Tolerable,” Wegg rejoins. “But bear in mind, Mr. Venus, that there’s no gold without its alloy. Mix for yourself and take a seat in the chimbley-corner. Will you perform upon a pipe, sir?”

“I am but an indifferent performer, sir,” returns the other; “but I’ll accompany you with a whiff or two at intervals.”

So, Mr. Venus mixes, and Wegg mixes; and Mr. Venus lights and puffs, and Wegg lights and puffs.