Our Mutual Friend

himself were evidently made, inasmuch as they had but to put their price upon this document, and get that price from the minion of fortune and the worm of the hour: who now appeared to be less of a minion and more of a worm than had been previously supposed. That, he considered it plain that such price was stateable in a single expressive word, and that the word was, “Halves!” That, the question then arose when “Halves!” should be called. That, here he had a plan of action to recommend, with a conditional clause. That, the plan of action was that they should lie by with patience; that, they should allow the Mounds to be gradually levelled and cleared away, while retaining to themselves their present opportunity of watching the process⁠—which would be, he conceived, to put the trouble and cost of daily digging and delving upon somebody else, while they might nightly turn such complete disturbance of the dust to the account of their own private investigations⁠—and that, when the Mounds were gone, and they had worked those chances for their own joint benefit solely, they should then, and not before, explode on the minion and worm. But here came the conditional clause, and to this he entreated the special attention of his comrade, brother, and partner. It was not to be borne that the minion and worm should carry off any of that property which was now to be regarded as their own property. When he, Mr. Wegg, had seen the minion surreptitiously making off with that bottle, and its precious contents unknown, he had looked upon him in the light of a mere robber, and, as such, would have despoiled him of his ill-gotten gain, but for the judicious interference of his comrade, brother, and partner. Therefore, the conditional clause he proposed was, that, if the minion should return in his late sneaking manner, and if, being closely watched, he should be found to possess himself of anything, no matter what, the sharp sword impending over his head should be instantly shown him, he should be strictly examined as to what he knew or suspected, should be severely handled by them his masters, and should be kept in a state of abject moral bondage and slavery until the time when they should see fit to permit him to purchase his freedom at the price of half his possessions. If, said Mr. Wegg by way of peroration, he had erred in saying only “Halves!” he trusted to his comrade, brother, and partner not to hesitate to set him right, and to reprove his weakness. It might be more according to the rights of things, to say two-thirds; it might be more according to the rights of things, to say three-fourths. On those points he was ever open to correction.

Mr. Venus, having wafted his attention to this discourse over three successive saucers of tea, signified his concurrence in the views advanced. Inspirited hereby, Mr. Wegg extended his right hand, and declared it to be a hand which never yet. Without entering into more minute particulars. Mr. Venus, sticking to his tea, briefly professed his belief as polite forms required of him, that it was a hand which never yet. But contented himself with looking at it, and did not take it to his bosom.

“Brother,” said Wegg, when this happy understanding was established, “I should like to ask you something. You remember the night when I first looked in here, and found you floating your powerful mind in tea?”

Still swilling tea, Mr. Venus nodded assent.

“And there you sit, sir,” pursued Wegg with an air of thoughtful admiration, “as if you had never left off! There you sit, sir, as if you had an unlimited capacity of assimilating the flagrant article! There you sit, sir, in the midst of your works, looking as if you’d been called upon for Home, Sweet Home, and was obleeging the company!

‘A exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,
O give you your lowly Preparations again,
The birds stuffed so sweetly that can’t be expected to come at your call,
Give you these with the peace of mind dearer than all.
Home, Home, Home, sweet Home!’

—Be it ever,” added Mr. Wegg in prose as he glanced about the shop, “ever so ghastly, all things considered there’s no place like it.”

“You said you’d like to ask something; but you haven’t asked it,” remarked Venus, very unsympathetic in manner.

“Your peace of mind,” said Wegg, offering condolence, “your peace of mind was in a poor way that night. How’s it going on? is it looking up at all?”

“She does not wish,” replied Mr. Venus with a comical mixture of indignant obstinacy and tender melancholy, “to regard herself, nor yet to be regarded, in that particular light. There’s no more to be said.”

“Ah, dear me, dear me!” exclaimed Wegg with a sigh, but eyeing him while pretending to keep him company in eyeing the fire, “such is Woman! And I remember you said that night, sitting there as I sat here⁠—said that night when your peace of mind was first laid low, that you had taken an interest in these very affairs. Such is coincidence!”

“Her father,” rejoined Venus, and then stopped to swallow more tea, “her father was mixed up in them.”

“You didn’t mention her name, sir, I think?” observed Wegg, pensively. “No, you didn’t mention her name that night.”

“Pleasant Riderhood.”

“In⁠—deed!” cried Wegg. “Pleasant Riderhood. There’s something moving in the name. Pleasant. Dear me! Seems to express what she might have been, if she hadn’t made that unpleasant remark⁠—and what she ain’t, in consequence of having made it. Would it at all pour balm into your wounds, Mr. Venus, to inquire how you came acquainted with her?”

“I was down at the waterside,” said Venus, taking another gulp of tea and mournfully winking at the fire⁠—“looking for parrots”⁠—taking another gulp and stopping.

Mr. Wegg hinted, to jog his attention: “You could hardly have been out parrot-shooting, in the British climate, sir?”

“No, no, no,”