“ Have I lost my smell for fruits, or is it a apple pie, sir?” asked Wegg.
“It’s a veal and ham pie,” said Mr. Boffin.
“Is it indeed, sir? And it would be hard, sir, to name the pie that is a better pie than a weal and hammer,” said Mr. Wegg, nodding his head emotionally.
“Have some, Wegg?”
“Thank you, Mr. Boffin, I think I will, at your invitation. I wouldn’t at any other party’s, at the present juncture; but at yours, sir!—And meaty jelly too, especially when a little salt, which is the case where there’s ham, is mellering to the organ, is very mellering to the organ.” Mr. Wegg did not say what organ, but spoke with a cheerful generality.
So, the pie was brought down, and the worthy Mr. Boffin exercised his patience until Wegg, in the exercise of his knife and fork, had finished the dish: only profiting by the opportunity to inform Wegg that although it was not strictly fashionable to keep the contents of a larder thus exposed to view, he ( Mr. Boffin) considered it hospitable; for the reason, that instead of saying, in a comparatively unmeaning manner, to a visitor, “There are such and such edibles downstairs; will you have anything up?” you took the bold practical course of saying, “Cast your eye along the shelves, and, if you see anything you like there, have it down.”
And now, Mr. Wegg at length pushed away his plate and put on his spectacles, and Mr. Boffin lighted his pipe and looked with beaming eyes into the opening world before him, and Mrs. Boffin reclined in a fashionable manner on her sofa: as one who would be part of the audience if she found she could, and would go to sleep if she found she couldn’t.