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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。”
“O！ 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
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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。 An air of haste and excitement pervades the
party； and as the tall hat （surmounting Mr Smallweed the
younger） alights； Mr Smallweed the elder pokes his head out of
window； and bawls to Mr Guppy； “How de do； sir！ How de do！”
“What do Chick and his family want here at this time of the
morning； I wonder！” says Mr Guppy； nodding to his familiar。
“My dear sir；” cries Grandfather Smallweed； “would you do me
a favour？ Would you and your friend be so very obleeging as to
carry me into the public…house in the court； while Bart and his
sister bring their grandmother along？ Would you do an old man
that good turn； sir？”
Mr Guppy looks at his friend； repeating inquiringly； “the
public…house in the court？” And they prepare to bear the
venerable burden to the Sol’s Arms。
“There’s your fare！” says the Patriarch to the coachman with a
fierce grin； and shaking his incapable fist at him。 “Ask me for a
penny more； and I’ll have my lawful revenge upon you。 My dear
young men； be easy with me； if you please。 Allow me to catch you
round the neck。 I won’t squeeze you tighter than I can help。 O
Lord！ O dear me！ O my bones！”
It is well that the Sol is not far off； for Mr Weevle presents an
apoplectic appearance before half the distance is accomplished。
With no worse aggravation of his symptoms； however； than the
utterance of divers croaking sounds； expressive of obstructive
respiration； he fulfils his share of the porterage； and the
benevolent old gentleman is deposited by his own desire in the
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parlour of the Sol’s Arms。
“O Lord！” gasps Mr Smallweed； looking about him； breathless；
from an armchair。 “O dear me！ O my bones and back！ O my aches
and pains！ Sit down； you dancing； prancing； shambling；
scrambling poll parrot！ Sit down！”
This little apostrophe to Mrs Smallweed is occasioned by a
propensity on the part of that unlucky old lady； whenever she
finds herself on her feet； to amble about； and “set” to inanimate
objects； accompanying herself with a chattering noise； as in a
witch dance。 A nervous affection has probably as much to do with
these demonstrations； as any imbecile intention in the poor old
woman； but on the present occasion they are so particularly lively
in connection with the Windsor armchair； fellow to that in which
Mr Smallweed is seated； that she only quite desists when her
grandchildren have held her down in it： her lord in the meanwhile
bestowing upon her； with great volubility； the endearing epithet of
“a pigheaded Jackdaw；” repeated a surprising number of times。
“My dear sir；” Grandfather Smallweed then proceeds；
addressing Mr Guppy； “there has been a calamity here。 Have you
heard of it； either of you？”
“Heard of it； sir！ Why； we discovered it。”
“You discovered it。 You two discovered it！ Bart； they discovered
it！”
The two discoverers stare at the Smallweeds； who return the
compliment。
“My dear friends；” whines Grandfather Smallweed； putting out
both his hands； “I owe you a thousand thanks for discharging the
melancholy office of discovering the ashes of Mrs Smallweed’s
brother。”
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“Eh？” says Mr Guppy。
“Mrs Smallweed’s brother； my dear friend—her only relation。
We were not on terms； which is to be deplored now； but he never
would be on terms。 He was not fond of us。 He was eccentric—he
was very eccentric。 Unless he has left a will （which is not at all
likely） I shall take out letters of administration。 I have come down
to look after the property； it must be sealed up； it must be
protected。 I have come down；” repeats Grandfather Smallweed；
hooking the air towards him with all his ten fingers at once； “to
look after the property。”
“I think； Small；” says the disconsolate Mr Guppy； “you might
have mentioned that the old man was your uncle。”
“You two were so close about him that I thought you would like
me to be the same；” returns that old bird； with a secretly glistening
eye。 “Besides； I wasn’t proud of him。”
“Besides which； it was nothing to you； you know； whether he
was or not；” says Judy。 Also with a secretly glistening eye。
“He never saw me in his life； to know me；” observed Small； “I
don’t know why I should introduce him； I am sure！”
“No； he never communicated with us—which is to be
deplored；” the old gentleman strikes in； “but I have come to look
after the property—to look over the papers； and to look after the
property。 We shall make good our t