Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was on his way to the West End to deliver some game; the clerk of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his dinner; and so Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, himself, cried, "Come in," when Mr. Pell and his companions knocked at the counting-house door.
"Good morning, sir," said Pell, bowing obsequiously. "We want to make a little transfer, if you please."
"Oh, come in, will you?" said Mr. Flasher. "Sit down a minute; I'll attend to you directly."
"Thank you, sir," said Pell, "there's no hurry. Take a chair, Mr. Weller."
Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpires took what they could get, and looked at the almanack and one or two papers which were wafered against the wall, with as much open-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of the old masters.
"Well, I'll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!" said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which Mr. Pell's entrance had caused a momentary interruption.
This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore his hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk, killing flies with a ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing himself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with a pen-knife, which he dropped every now and then with great dexterity into the very centre of a small red wafer that was stuck outside. Both gentlemen had very open waistcoats and very rolling collars, and very small boots, and very big rings, and very little watches, and very large guard chains, and symmetrical inexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.
"I never bet half a dozen," said the other gentleman. "I'll take a dozen."
"Done, Simmery, done!" said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
"P. P., mind," observed the other.
"Of course," replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins
