st be prepared to prove, when you come into court!"

"Well, sir! and which of us is likely to be best off for
witnesses?--Think of that, sir--I've eighteen young men"----

"We shall chance that, sir," replied Gammon, shrugging his shoulders,
and smiling very bitterly; "but again, I ask, what did you dismiss him
for? and, sir, I request a plain, straightforward answer."

"What did I dismiss him for?--Haven't I eyes and ears?--First and
foremost, he's the most odious-mannered fellow I ever came near--and--he
hadn't a shirt to his back when I first took him--the ungrateful
wretch!--Sir, it's at any rate not against the law, I suppose, to _hate_
a man;--and if it isn't, how I HATE Titmouse!"

"Mr. Tag-rag"--said Gammon, lowering his voice, and looking very
earnestly at his companion--"can I say a word to you in confidence--the
strictest confidence?"

"What's it about, sir?" inquired Tag-rag, somewhat apprehensively.

"I dare say you may have felt, perhaps, rather surprised at the interest
which I--in fact our office, the office of Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, in
Saffron Hill--appear to have taken in Mr. Titmouse."

"Why, sir, it's _your_ look-out to see how you're to be paid for what
you're doing--and I dare say lawyers generally keep a pretty sharp
look-out in that direction!"

Gammon smiled, and continued--"It may, perhaps, a little surprise you,
Mr. Tag-rag, to hear that your present (ought I to say, your _late_?)
shopman, Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse, is at this moment probably the very
luckiest man--and one among the richest, too--in this kingdom."

"Why--you don't mean to say he's drawn a prize in the
lottery?"--exclaimed Tag-rag, pricking up his ears, and manifestly
changing color.

"Pho! my dear sir, _that_ is a mere bagatelle compared with the good
fortune which has just fallen to his lot. I solemnly assure you, that I
believe it will very shortly turn out that he is at this moment the
undoubted owner of an estate worth at least ten thousand a-year, besides
a vast accumulation of ready money!"

"Ten thousand a-year, sir!--My Titmouse!--Tittlebat Titmouse!--Ten
thousand a-year! it's quite impossible!" faltered Tag-rag, after a
pause, having gone as pale as death.

"I have as little doubt of the fact, however, sir, as I have that you
yesterday turned him out of doors, Mr. Tag-rag!"

"But"--said Mr. Tag-rag, in a low tone--"who could have dreamed it?--How
was--_really_, Mr. Gammon!--how _was_ I to know it?"

"T