“What will you take to be paid out?” said the butcher. “The regular chummage is two-and-six. Will you take three bob?”

“And a bender,” suggested the clerical gentleman.

“Well, I don’t mind that; it’s only twopence a piece more,” said Mr. Martin. “What do you say, now? We’ll pay you out for three-and-sixpence a week. Come!”

“And stand a gallon of beer down,” chimed in Mr. Simpson. “There!”

“And drink it on the spot,” said the chaplain. “Now!”

“I really am so wholly ignorant of the rules of this place,” returned Mr. Pickwick, “that I do not yet comprehend you. Can I live anywhere else? I thought I could not.”