“I ask your pardon, Mr. Wegg. I am so soured.”

“Yes, but hang it,” says Wegg argumentatively, “a well-governed mind can be soured sitting! And as to being regarded in lights, there’s bumpy lights as well as bony. in which,” again rubbing his head, “I object to regard myself.”

“I’ll bear it in memory, sir.”

“If you’ll be so good.” Mr. Wegg slowly subdues his ironical tone and his lingering irritation, and resumes his pipe. “We were talking of old Mr. Harmon being a friend of yours.”