_The BEADLE here approaches, and touching his hat to O’WALKER, points to his open umbrella, and then walks on._ O’WALKER. (_astonished_) Now, that man evidently means something; he wouldn’t touch his hat to me for nothing—I don’t know why he shouldn’t, but he wouldn’t! _BEADLE again approaches O’WALKER, R., points to his open umbrella, smiles, touches his hat, and about to retire._ O’WALKER. (_beckons to him_) My good friend, perhaps I ought to know you? you may have been the cherished companion of my childhood, or the friend of my bosom in after years? if so, I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten you—now, what is it? BEADLE. Umbrella, sir! O’WALKER. Well? BEADLE. Don’t rain here, sir—under cover, sir—needn’t keep it up, sir! O’WALKER. (_suddenly_) Of course—ha! ha! ha! As you say, it doesn’t rain here—I don’t know why it shouldn’t, but it doesn’t! I’m obliged to you. (_shutting up his umbrella_) The fact is, I’ve so much to think of I really haven’t time to think of anything. In the first place, I’m going to be married—that’s a trifle to begin with, isn’t it? Are you married? (_BEADLE nods_) And how do you like it? Is matrimony an article you approve of in the long run? In short—do you recommend it? BEADLE. (_in a low tone and with a significant wink_) Try it! _Exit, L._ O’WALKER. He says “try it!” therefore, he does recommend it! Not that I exactly liked the tone in which he said “try it!” I mean to try it. I shouldn’t like to know who wouldn’t with such a charming little wife as I’m going to have, a sweet unsophisticated creature from the peaceful and picturesque village of Brentford, with health on her cheek, innocence in her heart, and £2,000 in her pocket. Now that £2,000, added to what I shall bring, will make a total of £2,000; for I don’t mean to say a word about the ninety-seven pounds ten, left me last week by my uncle Samuel—no, that ninety-seven ten I consider the property of my creditors; I gave it yesterday morning to my friend Dibbs to invest in the three per cents, with the full determination of paying my debts with the interest. I made the calculation last night, and find that in thirty-seven years I shan’t owe one shilling in the world: if that isn’t a moral satisfaction for a man, I don’t know what is! Dear me! now I think of it, I went out in such a hurry this morning that I hadn’t time to read my letters. (_taking letters out of his pocket and opening them_) Oh, from Jacob Jones, Dibbs’ head clerk, to tell me he’s invested my ninety-seven ten, I suppose! Holloa—what’s this? (_reads_) “Sorry to say Dibbs is done up”— Dear me! how very sudden—poor Dibbs. (_reading again_) “and means to make a bolt of it to-morrow”— That’s to-day! well, I can’t blame Dibbs if he does; perhaps it’s the best thing Dibbs can do. (_reads_) “with all the money he can lay his hands on”— Of course, every man has a right to do what he likes with his own, and so has Dibbs. (_reads_) “all the money he can lay his hands