rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an instant to
smash a fly with the ruler. 'Say a week.'

'Split the difference,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'Make it ten
days.'

'Well; ten days,'rejoined Mr. Simmery.

So it was entered down on the little books that Boffer was to kill
himself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to hand over
to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas; and that if Boffer
did kill himself within that time, Frank Simmery, Esquire, would pay to
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, five guineas, instead.

'I'm very sorry he has failed,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'Capital
dinners he gave.'

'Fine port he had too,' remarked Mr. Simmery. 'We are going to send our
butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some of that sixty-four.'

'The devil you are!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'My man's going too.
Five guineas my man outbids your man.'

'Done.'

Another entry was made in the little books, with the gold pencil-cases;
and Mr. Simmery, having by this time killed all the flies and taken
all the bets, strolled away to the Stock Exchange to see what was going
forward.

Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr. Solomon Pell's
instructions, and having filled up some printed forms, requested the
party to follow him to the bank, which they did: Mr. Weller and his
three friends staring at all they beheld in unbounded astonishment, and
Sam encountering everything with a coolness which nothing could disturb.

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?'

'Wy, you don't suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do you?' inquired
Sam, with some disdain.

'How should I know?' retorted Mr. Weller; 'I thought they looked wery
like it. Wot are they, then?'

'Clerks,' replied Sam.

'Wot are they all a-eatin' ham sangwidges for?' inquired his fat