“You surely don’t speak for yourself, Mr. Durdles,” returned Mr. Datchery, “any more than for His Honour.”
“Who’s His Honour?” demanded Durdles.
“His Honour the Mayor.”
“I never was brought afore him,” said Durdles, with anything but the look of a loyal subject of the mayoralty, “and it’ll be time enough for me to Honour him when I am. Until which, and when, and where:
‘Mister Sapsea is his name, England is his nation, Cloisterham’s his dwelling-place, Aukshneer’s his occupation.’ ”
Here, Deputy (preceded by a flying oyster-shell) appeared upon the scene, and requested to have the sum of threepence instantly “chucked” to him by Mr. Durdles, whom he had been vainly seeking up and down, as lawful wages overdue. While that gentleman, with his bundle under his arm, slowly found and counted out the money, Mr. Sapsea informed the new settler of Durdles’s habits, pursuits, abode, and reputation. “I suppose a curious stranger might come to see you, and your works, Mr. Durdles, at any odd time?” said Mr. Datchery upon that.
“Any gentleman is welcome to come and see me any evening if he brings liquor for two with him,” returned Durdles, with a penny between his teeth and certain halfpence in his hands. “Or if he likes to make it twice two, he’ll be doubly welcome.”
“I shall come. Master Deputy, what do you owe me?”
“A job.”
“Mind you pay me honestly with the job of showing me Mr. Durdles’s house when I want to go there.”