an language. Now, you can't read in my face what
answer I give?'

'No, I can't,' said Venus.

'I knew it! And why not?' returned Wegg, with the same joyful candour.
'Because I lay no claims to a speaking countenance. Because I am well
aware of my deficiencies. All men are not gifted alike. But I can answer
in words. And in what words? These. I wanted to give you a delightful
sap--pur--IZE!'

Having thus elongated and emphasized the word Surprise, Mr Wegg shook
his friend and brother by both hands, and then clapped him on both
knees, like an affectionate patron who entreated him not to mention so
small a service as that which it had been his happy privilege to render.

'Your speaking countenance,' said Wegg, 'being answered to its
satisfaction, only asks then, "What have you found?" Why, I hear it say
the words!'

'Well?' retorted Venus snappishly, after waiting in vain. 'If you hear
it say the words, why don't you answer it?'

'Hear me out!' said Wegg. 'I'm a-going to. Hear me out! Man and brother,
partner in feelings equally with undertakings and actions, I have found
a cash-box.'

'Where?'

'--Hear me out!' said Wegg. (He tried to reserve whatever he could, and,
whenever disclosure was forced upon him, broke into a radiant gush of
Hear me out.) 'On a certain day, sir--'

'When?' said Venus bluntly.

'N--no,' returned Wegg, shaking his head at once observantly,
thoughtfully, and playfully. 'No, sir! That's not your expressive
countenance which asks that question. That's your voice; merely your
voice. To proceed. On a certain day, sir, I happened to be walking in
the yard--taking my lonely round--for in the words of a friend of my own
family, the author of All's Well arranged as a duett:

"Deserted, as you will remember Mr Venus, by the waning
moon,
When stars, it will occur to you before I mention it, proclaim
night's cheerless noon,
On tower, fort, or tented ground,
The sentry walks his lonely round,
The sentry walks:"

--under those circumstances, sir, I happened to be walking in the yard
early one afternoon, and happened to have an iron rod in my hand, with
which I have been sometimes accustomed to beguile the monotony of a
literary life, when I struck it against an object not necessary to
trouble you by naming--'

'It is necessary. What object?' demanded Venus, in a wrathful tone.

'--Hear me out!' said Wegg. 'The Pump.--When I struck it against the
Pump, and