"Hear, hear," assented Mr. Pell's client. "Why shouldn't he be?"
"Ah! Why, indeed!" said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. "Why shouldn't he?"
A murmur of assent ran through the company.
"I remember, gentlemen," said Mr. Pell, "dining with him on one occasion;—there was only us two, but every thing as splendid as if twenty people had been expected—the great seal on a dumb-waiter at his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of armour guarding the mace with a drawn sword and silk stockings—which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and day; when he said, 'Pell,' he said, 'no false delicacy, Pell. You're a man of talent; you can get any body through the Insolvent Court, Pell; and your country should be proud of you. Those were his very words. 'My Lord,' I said, 'you flatter me.'—'Pell,' he said, 'if I do, I'm damned.'"
"Did he say that?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"He did," replied Pell.
"Vell, then," said Mr. Weller, "I say Parliament ought to ha' took it up; and if he'd been a poor man, they would ha' done it."
"But, my dear friend," argued Mr. Pell, "it was in confidence."
"In what?" said Mr. Weller.
"In confidence."
"Oh! wery good," replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflection. If he damned his-self in confidence, o' course that was another thing."
"Of course it was," said Mr. Pell. "The distinction's obvious, you will perceive."
"Alters the case entirely," said Mr. Weller. "Go on, sir."
"No, I will not go on, sir," said Mr. Pell, in a low and serious tone. "You have reminded me, sir, that this conversation was private—private and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am a professional man. It may be that I am a
