"So it seems," said Matt, opening one or two of the books, and then closing them with an air of disgust, when his landlord took them up, added them to the heap, and before returning to his bench, had a peep out towards Mrs Slagg's; but evidently the look was wasted, for he sighed, and took up his stirrup-leather, while old Matt drew down his mouth and bestowed a grim, contemptuous smile upon him as he rustled his paper, and, sitting down on a low workman's bench, began to read. "Ah!" said Matt, stopping in his reading to refresh himself with a pinch of snuff from a pill-box, "I thought so; they had an adjourned inquest about that case I told you of; but there's only a short para here." "Umph!" ejaculated Isaac, taking a good pull at his wax-end, and then readjusting his boot in the stirrup, but directly after disarranging it, to take a peep at Mrs Slagg--this time with success; but he frowned at her--a telegram that she knew meant the lodger was at home, and that friendly communications must stop. "They've brought it in--" "Ain't seen my wax, have you?" said Isaac slowly. "Accidental death," said Matt, not noticing the interruption; "and it's my opinion that--What?" "I want my wax," said Isaac, hunting about. "Well, get it," growled Matt, rather annoyed at being interrupted. "Ain't seen it, have you?" said Isaac. "No!" growled the old man, turning over his paper. "Had it along with the dubbin just before breakfast," said Isaac. "And then," continued Matt, "the coroner gave his order for the burial, and--" But Isaac Gross, who, in his slow fashion, was as industrious as the bees, like them, could not get on without his wax, so he interrupted the speaker with, "I want my wax," as he routed amongst his tools for the missing necessary. "You're waxing a great nuisance, Ike," said Matt, "and I wish you'd find your wax;" and then he readjusted his spectacles, and had another pinch of snuff. "Hullo!" he growled, starting up and going to the door to speak to a woman who stood there, and who eagerly, whispered a few words as she passed a note and a shilling into his hand. "Yes; I'll take the note, but I don't want that," he said, refusing the shilling, which fell upon the door-step. "Now, look here," he said aloud, and very gruffly-- for the woman had already turned to go--"I don't like this business at all; but if I'm to do it, I don't want paying for it; and if you don't take back that money, I sha'n't take the letter." "Hush, pray!" whispered the woman, glancing at Isaac's round, wide-open eyes. "Don't be angry with me, please--don't speak so loud." The appealing voice somewhat softened the old man, but he kept on growling and muttering, as, after a few more words, the woman--the same who had visited the Jarkers--picked up the shilling and left him, watched all the while most eagerly by Mrs Slagg, who did not seem to be easy in her mind respecting female visitors to her neighbour's place of business.