d the boy, nodding his head and drawing
back, with the elbows ready in case of the worst; 'now--'

'Stand still, you dog,' said Quilp. 'I won't do it again, because I've
done it as often as I want. Here. Take the key.'

'Why don't you hit one of your size?' said the boy approaching very
slowly.

'Where is there one of my size, you dog?' returned Quilp. 'Take the
key, or I'll brain you with it'--indeed he gave him a smart tap with
the handle as he spoke. 'Now, open the counting-house.'

The boy sulkily complied, muttering at first, but desisting when he
looked round and saw that Quilp was following him with a steady look.
And here it may be remarked, that between this boy and the dwarf that
existed a strange kind of mutual liking. How born or bred, and or
nourished upon blows and threats on one side, and retorts and defiances
on the other, is not to the purpose. Quilp would certainly suffer
nobody to contract him but the boy, and the boy would assuredly not
have submitted to be so knocked about by anybody but Quilp, when he had
the power to run away at any time he chose.

'Now,' said Quilp, passing into the wooden counting-house, 'you mind
the wharf. Stand upon your head agin, and I'll cut one of your feet
off.'

The boy made no answer, but directly Quilp had shut himself in, stood
on his head before the door, then walked on his hands to the back and
stood on his head there, and then to the opposite side and repeated the
performance. There were indeed four sides to the counting-house, but he
avoided that one where the window was, deeming it probable that Quilp
would be looking out of it. This was prudent, for in point of fact, the
dwarf, knowing his disposition, was lying in wait at a little distance
from the sash armed with a large piece of wood, which, being rough and
jagged and studded in many parts with broken nails, might possibly have
hurt him.

It was a dirty little box, this counting-house, with nothing in it but
an old ricketty desk and two stools, a hat-peg, an ancient almanack, an
inkstand with no ink, and the stump of one pen, and an eight-day clock
which hadn't gone for eighteen years at least, and of which the
minute-hand had been twisted off for a tooth-pick. Daniel Quilp pulled
his hat over his brows, climbed on to the desk (which had a flat top)
and stretching his short length upon it went to sleep with ease of an
old practitioner; intending, no doubt, to compensate himself for the
deprivation o