"Who says so?"
To which Mr. Jobling retorts,
"I say so!"
To which Mr. Guppy retorts,
"Oh, indeed?"
To which Mr. Jobling retorts,
"Yes, indeed!"
And both being now in a heated state, they walk on silently for a while to cool down again.
"Tony," says Mr. Guppy then, "if you heard your friend out instead of flying at him, you wouldn't fall into mistakes.
But your temper is hasty and you are not considerate.
Possessing in yourself, Tony, all that is calculated to charm the eye--"
"Oh! Blow the eye!" cries Mr. Weevle, cutting him short.
"Say what you have got to say!"
Finding his friend in this morose and material condition, Mr. Guppy only expresses the finer feelings of his soul through the tone of injury in which he recommences,
"Tony, when I say there is a point on which we must come to an understanding pretty soon, I say so quite apart from any kind of conspiring, however innocent.
You know it is professionally arranged beforehand in all cases that are tried what facts the witnesses are to prove.
Is it or is it not desirable that we should know what facts we are to prove on the inquiry into the death of this unfortunate old mo--gentleman?" (Mr. Guppy was going to say "mogul," but thinks "gentleman" better suited to the circumstances.)
"What facts? THE facts."
"The facts bearing on that inquiry.
Those are"--Mr. Guppy tells them off on his fingers--"what we knew of his habits, when you saw him last, what his condition was then, the discovery that we made, and how we made it."
"Yes," says Mr. Weevle. "Those are about the facts."
"We made the discovery in consequence of his having, in his eccentric way, an appointment with you at twelve o'clock at night, when you were to explain some writing to him as you had often done before on account of his not being able to read.
I, spending the evening with you, was called down--and so forth.
The inquiry being only into the circumstances touching the death of the deceased, it's not necessary to go beyond these facts, I suppose you'll agree?"
"No!" returns Mr. Weevle.
"I suppose not."
"And this is not a conspiracy, perhaps?" says the injured Guppy.
"No," returns his friend; "if it's nothing worse than this, I withdraw the observation."
"Now, Tony," says Mr. Guppy, taking his arm again and walking him slowly on, "I should like to know, in a friendly way, whether you have yet thought over the many advantages of your continuing to live at that place?"
"What do you mean?" says Tony, stopping.
"Whether you have yet thought over the many advantages of your continuing to live at that place?" repeats Mr. Guppy, walking him on again.
"At what place? THAT place?" pointing in the direction of the rag and bottle shop.
Mr. Guppy nods.
"Why, I wouldn't pass another night there for any consideration that you could offer me," says Mr. Weevle, haggardly staring.
"Do you mean it though, Tony?"
"Mean it!
Do I look as if I mean it?
I feel as if I do; I know that," says Mr. Weevle with a very genuine shudder.
"Then the possibility or probability--for such it must be considered--of your never being disturbed in possession of those effects lately belonging to a lone old man who seemed to have no relation in the world, and the certainty of your being able to find out what he really had got stored up there, don't weigh with you at all against last night, Tony, if I understand you?" says Mr. Guppy, biting his thumb with the appetite of vexation.
"Certainly not.
Talk in that cool way of a fellow's living there?" cries Mr. Weevle indignantly.
"Go and live there yourself."
"Oh! I, Tony!" says Mr. Guppy, soothing him.
"I have never lived there and couldn't get a lodging there now, whereas you have got one."
"You are welcome to it," rejoins his friend, "and--ugh!--you may make yourself at home in it."
"Then you really and truly at this point," says Mr. Guppy, "give up the whole thing, if I understand you, Tony?"
"You never," returns Tony with a most convincing steadfastness, "said a truer word in all your life.
I do!"
While they are so conversing, a hackney-coach drives into the square, on the box of which vehicle a very tall hat makes itself manifest to the public.
Inside the coach, and consequently not so manifest to the multitude, though sufficiently so to the two friends, for the coach stops almost at their feet, are the venerable Mr. Smallweed and Mrs. Smallweed, accompanied by their granddaughter Judy.