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himself； shorn of his hat； that when he holds up The Times to run
his eye over the columns； he seems to have retired for the night；
and to have disappeared under the bed…clothes。
Mr Guppy and Mr Jobling repair to the rag and bottle shop；
where they find Krook still sleeping like one o’clock； that is to say；
breathing stertorously with his chin upon his breast； and quite
insensible to any external sounds； or even to gentle shaking。 On
the table beside him； among the usual lumber； stand an empty gin
bottle and a glass。 The unwholesome air is so stained with this
liquor； that even the green eyes of the cat upon her shelf； as they
open and shut and glimmer on the visitors； look drunk。
“Hold up here！” says Mr Guppy； giving the relaxed figure of the
old man another shake。 “Mr Krook！ Halloa； sir！”
But it would seem as easy to wake a bundle of old clothes； with
a spirituous heat smouldering in it。 “Did you ever see such a
stupor as he falls into； between drink and sleep？” says Mr Guppy。
“If this is his regular sleep；” returns Jobling； rather alarmed；
“it’ll last a long time one of these days； I am thinking。”
“It’s always more like a fit than a nap；” says Mr Guppy； shaking
him again。 “Halloa； your lordship！ Why he might be robbed； fifty
times over！ Open your eyes！”
After much ado； he opens them； but without appearing to see
his visitors； or any other objects。 Though he crosses one leg on
another； and folds his hands； and several times closes and opens
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his parched lips； he seems to all intents and purposes as insensible
as before。
“He is alive； at any rate；” says Mr Guppy。 “How are you； my
Lord Chancellor？ I have brought a friend of mine； sir； on a little
matter of business。”
The old man still sits； often smacking his dry lips； without the
least consciousness。 After some minutes； he makes an attempt to
rise。 They help him up； and he staggers against the wall； and
stares at them。
“How do you do； Mr Krook？” says Mr Guppy； in some
discomfiture。 “How do you do； sir？ You are looking charming； Mr
Krook。 I hope you are pretty well？”
The old man； in aiming a purposeless blow at Mr Guppy； or at
nothing； feebly swings himself round； and comes with his face
against the wall。 So he remains for a minute or two； heaped up
against it； and then staggers down the shop to the front door。 The
air； the movement in the court； the lapse of time； or the
combination of these things； recovers him。 He comes back pretty
steadily； adjusting his fur…cap on his head； and looking keenly at
them。
“Your servant； gentlemen； I’ve been dozing。 Hi！ I am hard to
wake； odd times。”
“Rather so； indeed； sir；” responds Mr Guppy。
“What？ You’ve been a…trying to do it； have you？” says the
suspicious Krook。
“Only a little；” Mr Guppy explains。
The old man’s eye resting on the empty bottle； he takes it up；
examines it； and slowly tilts it upside down。
“I say！” he cries； like the hobgoblin in the story。 “Somebody’s
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been making free here！”
“I assure you we found it so；” says Mr Guppy。 “Would you allow
me to get it filled for you？”
“Yes； certainly I would！” cries Krook； in high glee。 “Certainly I
would！ Don’t mention it！ Get it filled next door—Sol’s Arms—the
Lord Chancellor’s fourteenpenny。 Bless you； they know me！”
He so presses the empty bottle upon Mr Guppy； that that
gentleman； with a nod to his friend； accepts the trust； and hurries
out and hurries in again with the bottle filled。 The old man
receives it in his arms like a beloved grandchild； and pats it
tenderly。
“But； I say！” he whispers； with his eyes screwed up； after
tasting it； “this ain’t the Lord Chancellor’s fourteenpenny。 This is
eighteenpenny！”
“I thought you might like that better；” says Mr Guppy。
“You’re a nobleman； sir；” returns Krook； with another taste—
and his hot breath seems to come towards them like a flame。
“You’re a baron of the land。”
Taking advantage of this auspicious moment； Mr Guppy
presents his friend under the impromptu name of Mr Weevle； and
states the object of their visit。 Krook with his bottle under his arm
（he never gets beyond a certain point of either drunkenness or
sobriety）； takes time to survey his proposed lodger； and seems to
approve of him。 “You’d like to see the room； young man？” he says。
“Ah！ It’s a good room！ Been whitewashed。 Been cleaned down
with soft soap and soda。 Hi！ It’s worth twice the rent； letting alone
my company when you want it； and such a cat to keep the mice
away。”
Commending the room after this manner； the old man takes
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them upstairs； where indeed they do find it cleaner than it used to
be； and also containing some old articles of furniture which he has
dug up from his inexhaustible stores。 The terms are easily
concluded—for the Lord Chancellor cannot be hard on Mr Guppy；
associated as he is with Kenge and Carboy； Jarndyce and
Jarndyce； and other famous claims on his professional
consideration—and it is agreed that Mr Weevle shall take
possession on the morrow。 Mr Weevle and Mr Guppy then repair
to Cook’s Court； Cursitor Street； where the personal introduction
of the former to Mr Snagsby is effected； and （more important） the
vote and interest of Mrs Snagsby are secured。 They then report
progress to the eminent Smallweed； waiting at the office in his tall
hat for that purpose； and separate； Mr Guppy explaining that he
would terminate his little entertainment by standing treat at the
play； but that there are chords in the human mind which would
render it a hollow mockery。
On the morrow； in the dusk of evening； Mr Weevle modestly
appears at Krook’s； by no means incommoded with luggage； and
establishes himself in his new lodging； where the two eyes in the
shutters stare at him in his sleep； as if they were full of wonder。 On
the following day Mr Weevle； who is a handy good…for…nothing
kind of young fellow； borrows a needle and thread of Miss Flite；
and a hammer of his landlord； and goes to work devising apologies
for window…curtains； and knocking up apologies for shelves； and
hanging up his two teacups； milkpot； and crockery sundries on a
penny…worth of little hooks； like a shipwrecked sailor making the
best of it。
But what Mr Weevle prizes most； of all his