crack as if the whole
fabric were about to come toppling down. The house stood--if anything
so old and feeble could be said to stand--on a piece of waste ground,
blighted with the unwholesome smoke of factory chimneys, and echoing
the clank of iron wheels and rush of troubled water. Its internal
accommodations amply fulfilled the promise of the outside. The rooms
were low and damp, the clammy walls were pierced with chinks and holes,
the rotten floors had sunk from their level, the very beams started
from their places and warned the timid stranger from their
neighbourhood.

To this inviting spot, entreating him to observe its beauties as they
passed along, Mr Quilp led Richard Swiveller, and on the table of the
summer-house, scored deep with many a gallows and initial letter, there
soon appeared a wooden keg, full of the vaunted liquor. Drawing it off
into the glasses with the skill of a practised hand, and mixing it with
about a third part of water, Mr Quilp assigned to Richard Swiveller his
portion, and lighting his pipe from an end of a candle in a very old
and battered lantern, drew himself together upon a seat and puffed away.

'Is it good?' said Quilp, as Richard Swiveller smacked his lips, 'is it
strong and fiery? Does it make you wink, and choke, and your eyes
water, and your breath come short--does it?'

'Does it?' cried Dick, throwing away part of the contents of his glass,
and filling it up with water, 'why, man, you don't mean to tell me that
you drink such fire as this?'

'No!' rejoined Quilp, 'Not drink it! Look here. And here. And here
again. Not drink it!'

As he spoke, Daniel Quilp drew off and drank three small glassfuls of
the raw spirit, and then with a horrible grimace took a great many
pulls at his pipe, and swallowing the smoke, discharged it in a heavy
cloud from his nose. This feat accomplished he drew himself together
in his former position, and laughed excessively.

'Give us a toast!' cried Quilp, rattling on the table in a dexterous
manner with his fist and elbow alternately, in a kind of tune, 'a
woman, a beauty. Let's have a beauty for our toast and empty our
glasses to the last drop. Her name, come!'

'If you want a name,' said Dick, 'here's Sophy Wackles.'

'Sophy Wackles,' screamed the dwarf, 'Miss Sophy Wackles that is--Mrs
Richard Swiveller that shall be--that shall be--ha ha ha!'

'Ah!' said Dick, 'you might have said that a few weeks ago, but it
won't do now,