in the midst of pleasure, and the time has flown this
morning, I declare.'

Enjoining Tom Scott to await his return, and not to stand upon his
head, or throw a summerset, or so much as walk upon his hands
meanwhile, on pain of lingering torments, the dwarf threw himself into
a boat, and crossing to the other side of the river, and then speeding
away on foot, reached Mr Swiveller's usual house of entertainment in
Bevis Marks, just as that gentleman sat down alone to dinner in its
dusky parlour.

'Dick,' said the dwarf, thrusting his head in at the door, 'my pet, my
pupil, the apple of my eye, hey, hey!'

'Oh you're there, are you?' returned Mr Swiveller; 'how are you?'

'How's Dick?' retorted Quilp. 'How's the cream of clerkship, eh?'

'Why, rather sour, sir,' replied Mr Swiveller. 'Beginning to border
upon cheesiness, in fact.'

'What's the matter?' said the dwarf, advancing. 'Has Sally proved
unkind. "Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none like--" eh,
Dick!'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr Swiveller, eating his dinner with great
gravity, 'none like her. She's the sphynx of private life, is Sally B.'

'You're out of spirits,' said Quilp, drawing up a chair. 'What's the
matter?'

'The law don't agree with me,' returned Dick. 'It isn't moist enough,
and there's too much confinement. I have been thinking of running
away.'

'Bah!' said the dwarf. 'Where would you run to, Dick?'

'I don't know' returned Mr Swiveller. 'Towards Highgate, I suppose.
Perhaps the bells might strike up "Turn again Swiveller, Lord Mayor of
London." Whittington's name was Dick. I wish cats were scarcer.'

Quilp looked at his companion with his eyes screwed up into a comical
expression of curiosity, and patiently awaited his further explanation;
upon which, however, Mr Swiveller appeared in no hurry to enter, as he
ate a very long dinner in profound silence, finally pushed away his
plate, threw himself back into his chair, folded his arms, and stared
ruefully at the fire, in which some ends of cigars were smoking on
their own account, and sending up a fragrant odour.

'Perhaps you'd like a bit of cake'--said Dick, at last turning to the
dwarf. 'You're quite welcome to it. You ought to be, for it's of your
making.'

'What do you mean?' said Quilp.

Mr Swiveller replied by taking from his pocket a small and very greasy
parcel, slowly unfolding it, and displaying a little slab of plum-cake
extremely indigestible i