Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle, and passing a couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the red fire engine which was wheeled away into a corner, they passed into an office where their business was to be transacted, and where Pell and Mr. Flasher left them standing for a few moments, while they went upstairs into the Will Office.

“Wot place is this here?” whispered the mottled-faced gentleman to the elder Mr. Weller.

“Counsel’s Office,” replied the executor in a whisper.

“Wot are them gen’l’men a-settin’ behind the counters?” asked the hoarse coachman.

“Reduced counsels, I s’pose,” replied Mr. Weller. “Ain’t they the reduced counsels, Samivel?”