Neefit,--as to the expediency of which arrangement Mr. Moggs
senior quite agreed with Mr. Moggs junior,--unless he would show
himself to be a man of business? Did he think that old Neefit would
give his money to be wasted upon strikes? Ontario, who was as honest
a fool as ever lived, told his father that he didn't care a straw for
Neefit's money. Then Moggs the father had made a plunge against the
counter with his sharp-pointed shoemaker's knife, which he always
held in his hand, that had almost been fatal to himself; for the
knife broke at the thrust, and the fragment cut his wrist. At this
time there was no real Booby, and the firm was in truth Moggs, and
Moggs only. The great question was whether it should become Moggs and
Son. But what tradesman would take a partner into his firm who began
by declaring that strikes were the safeguards of trade, and that
he,--the proposed partner,--did not personally care for money?
Nevertheless old Moggs persevered; and Ontario, alive to the fact
that it was his duty to be a bootmaker, was now attempting to carry
on his business in the manner laid down for him by his father.

A worse dun,--a dun with less power of dunning,--than Ontario Moggs
could not be conceived. His only strength lay in his helplessness.
When he found that Mr. Newton had two friends with him, his lips were
sealed. To ask for money at all was very painful to him, but to ask
for it before three men was beyond his power. Ralph Newton, seeing
something of this, felt that generosity demanded of him that he
should sacrifice himself. "I'm afraid you've come about your bill,
Mr. Moggs," he said. Ontario Moggs, who on the subject of Trades'
Unions at the Cheshire Cheese could pour forth a flood of eloquence
that would hold the room in rapt admiration, and then bring down a
tumult of applause, now stammered out a half-expressed assent. "As
Mr. Newton was engaged perhaps he had better call again."

"Well;--thankee, yes. It would be as well. But what's the total, Mr.
Moggs?" Ontario could not bring himself to mention the figures, but
handed a paper to our friend. "Bless my soul! that's very bad," said
our friend. "Over two hundred pounds for boots! How long can your
father give me?"

"He's a little pressed just at present," whispered Moggs.

"Yes;--and he has my bill, which he was forced to take up at
Christmas. It's quite true." Moggs said not a word, though he had
been especially commissioned to instruct the debtor th