ir
behind the counter.

'Yes there is, sir,' replied Wegg; 'there was something new this
morning. That foxey old grasper and griper--'

'Mr Boffin?' inquired Venus, with a glance towards the alligator's yard
or two of smile.

'Mister be blowed!' cried Wegg, yielding to his honest indignation.
'Boffin. Dusty Boffin. That foxey old grunter and grinder, sir, turns
into the yard this morning, to meddle with our property, a menial tool
of his own, a young man by the name of Sloppy. Ecod, when I say to him,
"What do you want here, young man? This is a private yard," he pulls out
a paper from Boffin's other blackguard, the one I was passed over for.
"This is to authorize Sloppy to overlook the carting and to watch the
work." That's pretty strong, I think, Mr Venus?'

'Remember he doesn't know yet of our claim on the property,' suggested
Venus.

'Then he must have a hint of it,' said Wegg, 'and a strong one that'll
jog his terrors a bit. Give him an inch, and he'll take an ell. Let him
alone this time, and what'll he do with our property next? I tell you
what, Mr Venus; it comes to this; I must be overbearing with Boffin, or
I shall fly into several pieces. I can't contain myself when I look
at him. Every time I see him putting his hand in his pocket, I see him
putting it into my pocket. Every time I hear him jingling his money, I
hear him taking liberties with my money. Flesh and blood can't bear it.
No,' said Mr Wegg, greatly exasperated, 'and I'll go further. A wooden
leg can't bear it!'

'But, Mr Wegg,' urged Venus, 'it was your own idea that he should not be
exploded upon, till the Mounds were carted away.'

'But it was likewise my idea, Mr Venus,' retorted Wegg, 'that if he came
sneaking and sniffing about the property, he should be threatened, given
to understand that he has no right to it, and be made our slave. Wasn't
that my idea, Mr Venus?'

'It certainly was, Mr Wegg.'

'It certainly was, as you say, partner,' assented Wegg, put into
a better humour by the ready admission. 'Very well. I consider his
planting one of his menial tools in the yard, an act of sneaking and
sniffing. And his nose shall be put to the grindstone for it.'

'It was not your fault, Mr Wegg, I must admit,' said Venus, 'that he got
off with the Dutch bottle that night.'

'As you handsomely say again, partner! No, it was not my fault. I'd have
had that bottle out of him. Was it to be borne that he should come, like
a thief in the da