‘That’s the way to put it,’ said Miss Sally, nodding to her brother.

‘Did he say, for instance,’ added Brass, in a kind of comfortable, cozy tone—‘I don’t assert that he did say so, mind; I only ask you, to refresh your memory—did he say, for instance, that he was a stranger in London—that it was not his humour or within his ability to give any references—that he felt we had a right to require them—and that, in case anything should happen to him, at any time, he particularly desired that whatever property he had upon the premises should be considered mine, as some slight recompense for the trouble and annoyance I should sustain—and were you, in short,’ added Brass, still more comfortably and cozily than before, ‘were you induced to accept him on my behalf, as a tenant, upon those conditions?’

‘Certainly not,’ replied Dick.

‘Why then, Mr Richard,’ said Brass, darting at him a supercilious and reproachful look, ‘it’s my opinion that you’ve mistaken your calling, and will never make a lawyer.’

‘Not if you live a thousand years,’ added Miss Sally. Whereupon the brother and sister took each a noisy pinch of snuff from the little tin box, and fell into a gloomy thoughtfulness.

Nothing further passed up to Mr Swiveller’s dinner-time, which was at three o’clock, and seemed about three weeks in coming. At the first stroke of the hour, the new clerk disappeared. At the last stroke of five, he reappeared, and the office, as if by magic, became fragrant with the smell of gin and water and lemon-peel.

‘Mr Richard,’ said Brass, ‘this man’s not up yet. Nothing will wake him, Sir. What’s to be done?’

‘I should let him have his sleep out,’ returned Dick.

‘Sleep out!’ cried Brass; ‘why he has been asleep now, six-and-twenty hours. We have been moving chests of drawers over his head, we have knocked double knocks at the street-door, we have made the servant-girl fall downstairs several times (she’s a light weight, and it don’t hurt her much), but nothing wakes him.’

‘Perhaps a ladder,’ suggested Dick, ‘and getting in at the first-floor window—’

‘But then there’s a door between; besides, the neighbours would be up in arms,’ said Brass.

‘What do you say to getting on the roof of the house through the trap-door, and dropping down the chimney?’ suggested Dick.

‘That would be an excellent plan,’ said Brass, ‘if anybody would be—’ and here he looked very hard at Mr Swiveller—‘would be kind, and friendly, and generous enough, to undertake it. I dare say it would not be anything like as disagreeable as one supposes.’

Dick had made the suggestion, thinking that the duty might possibly fall within Miss Sally’s department. As he said nothing further, and declined taking the hint, Mr Brass was fain to propose that they should go upstairs together, and make a last effort to awaken the sleeper by some less violent means, which, if they failed on this last trial, must positively be succeeded by stronger measures. Mr Swiveller, assenting, armed himself with his stool and the large ruler, and repaired with his employer to the scene of action, where Miss Brass was already ringing a handbell with all her might, and yet without producing the smallest effect upon their mysterious lodger.

‘There are his boots, Mr Richard,’ said Brass.

‘Very obstinate-looking articles they are too,’ quoth Richard Swiveller. And truly they were as sturdy and bluff a pair of boots as one would wish to see; as firmly planted on the ground as if their owner’s legs