“Ah, I thought not,” said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying tone in which ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little child. “ Mr. Mallard, send round to Mr. ⁠— Mr. ⁠—”

“Phunky’s⁠—Holborn Court, Gray’s Inn,” interposed Perker. (Holborn Court, by the by, is South Square now.)⁠—“ Mr. Phunky, and say I should be glad if he’d step here, a moment.”

Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and Serjeant Snubbin relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was introduced.