Pell and his companions knocked at the counting-house door.
'Good-morning, Sir,' said Pell, bowing obsequiously. 'We want
to make a little transfer, if you please.'
'Oh, just come in, will you?' said Mr. Flasher. 'Sit down a
minute; I'll attend to you directly.'
'Thank you, Sir,' said Pell, 'there's no hurry. Take a chair,
Mr. Weller.'
Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpires
took what they could get, and looked at the almanac and one or
two papers which were wafered against the wall, with as much
open-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of the
old masters.
'Well, I'll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!' said
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which
Mr. Pell's entrance had caused a momentary interruption.
This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore
his hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk,
killing flies with a ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing
himself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with
a penknife, which he dropped every now and then with great
dexterity into the very centre of a small red wafer that was stuck
outside.
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