because he was
not sure that he had found the greatest rogue.

But other people and things are not so stupid as the Man on St. Paul's,
nor so unsuccessful as the Grocer. They are brisker and seize the
opportunity to enjoy themselves. The Pump, for instance, that stands at
the head of Fountain Court, generally indulges himself in a soliloquy.
He talks through his nose, to be sure, which sounds disagreeably, but
the nearest listeners do not mind it. For the Man on St. Paul's is too
stupid or it may be asleep. The Grocer is running round with his scales,
looking for the Corporation. Sir Walter Raleigh has taken so much snuff
that his own voice is even more disagreeable, and so he has no right to
complain. The nearest listener of all would be the Indian in front of
Morgridge and Mit, dealers in tobacco, but he has gone to have a talk
with Sir Walter Raleigh; so the Pump has it all its own way. Let us hear
what the Pump said this night:--

"Well, so it's Christmas again, is it? how the years do go by! and how
things change! To think of the difference between this court now and
what it used to be! Why, I can remember very well when fine ladies and
gentlemen gathered here on Christmas eve. The watchman would go along
with them with a lantern in his hand. I was of importance then--I am
now, to be sure, but then people recognized me and considered me. I gave
the name to the court--that was something! But those days went by; and
then there was that time when a noisy fellow got up on my head, where he
kept his place with difficulty, and spouted ever so much eloquence about
rights and liberty and constitution. No good ever came of that! for it
was he who broke off a piece of the gilt knob on my head, and it has
never been mended since. That was the beginning of my troubles, and now
to what a pass have things come. Why, a ragged, drunken man leaned up
against me--ugh! this very night, and I see the poorest kind of people
go down the court. I was used to have nothing but fine pitchers and
pails brought to me to fill, but now I have to look into dirty broken
pitchers and old tubs. They have even begun to call the place Pump
Court, as if I were no better than a common every-day pump! What is
worst, there is an upstart just the other side of the way,--it lets out
water to be sure, but it has nothing to say about it; it has no handle,
and the water comes out by just turning a screw; altogether it is a very
plebeian thing; it can know no