“I had confident expectations that things would come round and be all square,” says Mr Jobling, with some vagueness of expression, and perhaps of meaning, too. “But I was disappointed. They never did. And when it came to creditors making rows at the office, and to people that the office dealt with making complaints about dirty trifles of borrowed money, why there was an end of that connexion. And of any new professional connexion too; for if I was to give a reference to-morrow, it would be mentioned and would sew me up. Then what’s a fellow to do? I have been keeping out of the way and living cheap down about the market-gardens; but what’s the use of living cheap when you have got no money? You might as well live dear.”

“Better,” Mr Smallweed thinks.

“Certainly. It’s the fashionable way; and fashion and whiskers have been my weaknesses, and I don’t care who knows it,” says Mr Jobling. “They are great weaknesses — Damme, sir, they are great. Well,” proceeds Mr Jobling after a defiant visit to his rum-and-water, “what can a fellow do, I ask you, but enlist?”

Mr Guppy comes more fully into the conversation, to state what, in his opinion, a fellow can do. His manner is the gravely impressive manner of a man who has not committed himself in life, otherwise than as he has become the victim of a tender sorrow of the heart.

“Jobling,” says Mr Guppy, “myself and our mutual friend Smallweed—”

Mr Smallweed modestly observes, “Gentlemen both!” and drinks.

“Have had a little conversation on this matter more than once, since you—”

“Say, got the sack!” cries Mr Jobling bitterly. “Say it, Guppy. You mean it.”

“No-o-o! Left the Inn,” Mr Smallweed delicately suggests.

“Since you left the Inn, Jobling,” says Mr Guppy; “and I have mentioned to our mutual friend Smallweed a plan I have lately thought of proposing. You know Snagsby the stationer?”

“I know there is such a stationer,” returns Mr Jobling. “He was not ours, and I am not acquainted with him.”

“He is ours, Jobling, and I am acquainted with him,” Mr Guppy retorts. “Well, sir! I have lately become better acquainted with him, through some accidental circumstances that have made me a visitor of his in private life. Those circumstances it is not necessary to offer in argument. They may — or they may not — have some reference to a subject, which may — or may not — have cast its shadow on my existence.”

As it is Mr Guppy’s perplexing way with boastful misery to tempt his particular friends into this subject, and the moment they touch it, to turn on them with that trenchant severity about the chords in the human mind; both Mr Jobling and Mr Smallweed decline the pitfall by remaining silent.

“Such things may be,” repeats Mr Guppy, “or they may not be. They are no part of the case. It is enough to mention, that both Mr and Mrs Snagsby are very willing to oblige me; and that Snagsby has, in busy times, a good deal of copying work to give out. He has all Tulkinghorn’s, and an excellent business besides. I believe, if our mutual friend Smallweed were put into the box, he could prove this?”

Mr Smallweed nods, and appears greedy to be sworn.

“Now, gentlemen of the jury,” says Mr Guppy, “-I mean, now, Jobling — you may say this is a poor prospect of a living. Granted. But it’s better than nothing, and better than enlistment. You want time. There must be time for these late affairs to blow over. You might live through it on much worse terms than by writing for Snagsby.”