“I am willing, Wegg, to come to terms.”
“Willing won’t do, Boffin. I won’t take willing. Are you desirous to come to terms? Do you ask to be allowed as a favour to come to terms?” Mr. Wegg again planted his arm, and put his head on one side.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?” said the inexorable Wegg: “I won’t take yes. I’ll have it out of you in full, Boffin.”
“Dear me!” cried that unfortunate gentleman. “I am so worrited! I ask to be allowed to come to terms, supposing your document is all correct.”
“Don’t you be afraid of that,” said Silas, poking his head at him. “You shall be satisfied by seeing it. Mr. Venus will show it you, and I’ll hold you the while. Then you want to know what the terms are. Is that about the sum and substance of it? Will you or won’t you answer, Boffin?” For he had paused a moment.
“Dear me!” cried that unfortunate gentleman again, “I am worrited to that degree that I’m almost off my head. You hurry me so. Be so good as name the terms, Wegg.”
“Now, mark, Boffin,” returned Silas: “Mark ’em well, because they’re the lowest terms and the only terms. You’ll throw your Mound (the little Mound as comes to you anyway) into the general estate, and then you’ll divide the whole property into three parts, and you’ll keep one and hand over the others.”
Mr. Venus’s mouth screwed itself up, as Mr. Boffin’s face lengthened itself, Mr. Venus not having been prepared for such a rapacious demand.
“Now, wait a bit, Boffin,” Wegg proceeded, “there’s something more. You’ve been a squandering this property—laying some of it out on yourself. that won’t do. You’ve bought a house. You’ll be charged for it.”
“I shall be ruined, Wegg!” Mr. Boffin faintly protested.
“Now, wait a bit, Boffin; there’s something more. You’ll leave me in sole custody of these Mounds till they’re all laid low. If any waluables should be found in ’em, I’ll take care of such waluables. You’ll produce your contract for the sale of the Mounds, that we may know to a penny what they’re worth, and you’ll make out likewise an exact list of all the other property. When the Mounds is cleared away to the last shovel-full, the final diwision will come off.”
“Dreadful, dreadful, dreadful! I shall die in a workhouse!” cried the Golden Dustman, with his hands to his head.
“Now, wait a bit, Boffin; there’s something more. You’ve been unlawfully ferreting about this yard. You’ve been seen in the act of ferreting about this yard. Two pair of eyes at the present moment brought to bear upon you, have seen you dig up a Dutch bottle.”
“It was mine, Wegg,” protested Mr. Boffin. “I put it there myself.”
“What was in it, Boffin?” inquired Silas.
“Not gold, not silver, not bank notes, not jewels, nothing that you could turn into money, Wegg; upon my soul!”
“Prepared, Mr. Venus,” said Wegg, turning to his partner with a knowing and superior air, “for an ewasive answer on the part of our dusty friend here, I have hit out a little idea which I think will meet your views. We charge that bottle against our dusty friend at a thousand pound.”
Mr. Boffin drew a deep groan.
“Now, wait a bit, Boffin; there’s something more. In your employment is an underhanded sneak, named Rokesmith. It won’t answer to have him about, while this business of ours is about. He must be discharged.”
“Rokesmith is already discharged,” said Mr. Boffin, speaking in a muffled voice, with his hands before his face, as he rocked himself on the settle.
“Already discharged, is he?” returned Wegg, surprised. “Oh! Then, Boffin, I believe there’s nothing more at present.”
The unlucky gentleman continuing to rock himself to and fro, and to utter an occasional moan, Mr. Venus besought him to bear up against his reverses, and to take time to accustom himself to the thought of his new position. But, his taking time was exactly the thing of all others that Silas Wegg could not be induced to hear of. “Yes or no, and no half measures!” was the motto which that obdurate person many times repeated; shaking his fist at Mr. Boffin, and pegging his motto into the floor with his wooden leg, in a threatening and alarming manner.
At length, Mr. Boffin entreated to be allowed a quarter of an hour’s grace, and a cooling walk of that duration in the yard. With some difficulty Mr. Wegg granted this great favour, but only on condition that he accompanied Mr. Boffin in his walk, as not knowing what he might fraudulently unearth if he were left to himself. A more absurd sight than Mr. Boffin in his mental irritation trotting very nimbly, and Mr. Wegg hopping after him with great exertion, eager to watch the slightest turn of an eyelash, lest it should indicate a spot rich with some secret, assuredly had never been seen in the shadow of the Mounds. Mr. Wegg was much distressed when the quarter of an hour expired, and came hopping in, a very bad second.
“I can’t help myself!” cried Mr. Boffin, flouncing on the settle in a forlorn manner, with his hands deep in his pockets, as if his pockets had sunk. “What’s the good of my pretending to stand out, when I can’t help myself? I must give in to the terms. But I should like to see the document.”
Wegg, who was all for clinching the nail he had so strongly driven home, announced that Boffin should see it without an hour’s delay. Taking him into custody for that purpose, or overshadowing him as if he really were his Evil Genius in visible form, Mr. Wegg clapped Mr. Boffin’s hat upon the back of his head, and walked him out by the arm, asserting a proprietorship over his soul and body that was at once more grim and more ridiculous than anything in Mr. Venus’s
