‘“Pickwick,” said Mr. Wardle, for it was no other than that jolly personage. ‘“Ah, Pickwick—really Mr. Pickwick, my dear sir, excuse me—I shall be happy to receive any private suggestions of yours, as _amicus curiæ_, but you must see the impropriety of your interfering with my conduct in this case, with such an _ad captandum_ argument as the offer of half a guinea. Really, my dear sir, really,” and the little man took an argumentative pinch of snuff, and looked very profound. ‘“My only wish, sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “was to bring this very unpleasant matter to as speedy a close as possible.” ‘“Quite right—quite right,” said the little man. ‘“With which view,” continued Mr. Pickwick, “I made use of the argument which my experience of men has taught me is the most likely to succeed in any case.” ‘“Ay, ay,” said the little man, “very good, very good indeed; but you should have suggested it to _me_. My dear sir, I’m quite certain you cannot be ignorant of the extent of confidence which must be placed in professional men. If any authority can be necessary on such a point, my dear sir, let me refer you to the well-known case in Barnwell and—” ‘“Never mind George Barnwell,” interrupted Sam, who had remained a wondering listener during this short colloquy; “everybody knows vat sort of a case his was, tho’ it’s always been my opinion, mind you, that the young ’ooman deserved scragging a precious sight more than he did. Hows’ever, that’s neither here nor there. You want me to except of half a guinea. Werry well, I’m agreeable: I can’t say no fairer than that, can I, sir? (Mr. Pickwick smiled.) Then the next question is, what the devil do you want with me, as the man said wen he see the ghost?” ‘“We want to know—” said Mr. Wardle. ‘“Now, my dear sir—my dear sir,” interposed the busy little man. ‘Mr. Wardle shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. ‘“We want to know,” said the little man, solemnly; “and we ask the question of you, in order that we may not awaken apprehensions inside—we want to know who you’ve got in this house at present.” ‘“Who there is in the house!” said Sam, in whose mind the inmates were always represented by that particular article of their costume, which came under his immediate superintendence. “There’s a wooden leg in number six; there’s a pair of Hessians in thirteen; there’s two pair of halves in the commercial; there’s these here painted tops in the snuggery inside the bar; and five more tops in the coffee-room.” ‘“Nothing more?” said the little man. ‘“Stop a bit,” replied Sam, suddenly recollecting himself. “Yes; there’s a pair of Wellingtons a good deal worn, and a pair o’ lady’s shoes, in number five.”