"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 court-yard 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 up stairs 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 father.
"'Cos it's in their dooty, I suppose," replied Sam, "it's a part o' the system; they're alvays a doin' it here, all day long!"
Mr. Weller and his friends had scarcely had a moment to reflect upon this singular regulation as connected with the
