anchor on Veneering’s left; thus affording opportunity to the sportive Tippins on his right (he, as usual, being mere vacant space), to entreat to be told something about those loves of navvies, and whether they really do live on raw beefsteaks, and drink porter out of their barrows. But, in spite of such little skirmishes it is felt that this was to be a wondering dinner, and that the wondering must not be neglected. Accordingly, Brewer, as the man who has the greatest reputation to sustain, becomes the interpreter of the general instinct.
“I took,” says Brewer in a favourable pause, “a cab this morning, and I rattled off to that sale.”
Boots (devoured by envy) says, “So did I.”
Buffer says, “So did I”; but can find nobody to care whether he did or not.
“And what was it like?” inquires Veneering.
“I assure you,” replies Brewer, looking about for anybody else to address his answer to, and giving the preference to Lightwood; “I assure you, the things were going for a song. Handsome things enough, but fetching nothing.”
“So I heard this afternoon,” says Lightwood.
Brewer begs to know now, would it be fair to ask a professional man how—on—earth—these—people—ever—did—come— to —such— a —total smash? (Brewer’s divisions being for emphasis.)
Lightwood replies that he was consulted certainly, but could give no opinion which would pay off the Bill of Sale, and therefore violates no confidence in supposing that it came of their living beyond their means.
“But how,” says Veneering, “ can people do that!”