ching with his usual benignity, was surprised to
see Mr Pancks, but supposed him to have been stimulated to an immediate
squeeze instead of postponing that operation until Monday. The
population of the Yard were astonished at the meeting, for the two
powers had never been seen there together, within the memory of the
oldest Bleeding Heart. But they were overcome by unutterable amazement
when Mr Pancks, going close up to the most venerable of men and halting
in front of the bottle-green waistcoat, made a trigger of his right
thumb and forefinger, applied the same to the brim of the broad-brimmed
hat, and, with singular smartness and precision, shot it off the
polished head as if it had been a large marble.

Having taken this little liberty with the Patriarchal person, Mr Pancks
further astounded and attracted the Bleeding Hearts by saying in an
audible voice, 'Now, you sugary swindler, I mean to have it out with
you!'

Mr Pancks and the Patriarch were instantly the centre of a press, all
eyes and ears; windows were thrown open, and door-steps were thronged.

'What do you pretend to be?' said Mr Pancks. 'What's your moral game?
What do you go in for? Benevolence, an't it? You benevolent!' Here Mr
Pancks, apparently without the intention of hitting him, but merely to
relieve his mind and expend his superfluous power in wholesome exercise,
aimed a blow at the bumpy head, which the bumpy head ducked to
avoid. This singular performance was repeated, to the ever-increasing
admiration of the spectators, at the end of every succeeding article of
Mr Pancks's oration.

'I have discharged myself from your service,' said Pancks, 'that I may
tell you what you are. You're one of a lot of impostors that are the
worst lot of all the lots to be met with. Speaking as a sufferer by
both, I don't know that I wouldn't as soon have the Merdle lot as your
lot. You're a driver in disguise, a screwer by deputy, a wringer, and
squeezer, and shaver by substitute. You're a philanthropic sneak. You're
a shabby deceiver!' (The repetition of the performance at this point was
received with a burst of laughter.)

'Ask these good people who's the hard man here. They'll tell you Pancks,
I believe.'

This was confirmed with cries of 'Certainly,' and 'Hear!'

'But I tell you, good people--Casby! This mound of meekness, this lump
of love, this bottle-green smiler, this is your driver!' said Pancks.
'If you want to see the man who would flay you alive