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Updated: May 8, 2025
Guppy of the Old Street Road, and my particular friend, Mr. Weevle. That is to say, my friend has gone by the name of Weevle, but his name is really and truly Jobling." My guardian begged them to be seated, and they all sat down. "Tony," said Mr. Guppy to his friend after an awkward silence. "Will you open the case?" "Do it yourself," returned the friend rather tartly. "Well, Mr.
Transportation or the gallows for anybody who shall touch the property!" As his dutiful grandchildren set him up, panting, and putting him through the usual restorative process of shaking and punching, he still repeats like an echo, "The the property! The property! Property!" Mr. Weevle and Mr.
One helmet remains behind after careful investigation of all chinks and crannies and slowly paces up and down before the house in company with one of the two policemen who have likewise been left in charge thereof. To this trio everybody in the court possessed of sixpence has an insatiate desire to exhibit hospitality in a liquid form. Mr. Weevle and his friend Mr.
"Airing yourself, as I am doing, before you go to bed?" the stationer inquires. "Why, there's not much air to be got here; and what there is, is not very freshening," Weevle answers, glancing up and down the court. "Very true, sir. Don't you observe," says Mr. Snagsby, pausing to sniff and taste the air a little, "don't you observe, Mr.
Snagsby hastens home to save his little woman the trouble of looking for him, he might set his mind at rest on that score. His little woman has had her eye upon him round the Sol's Arms all this time and now glides after him with a pocket handkerchief wrapped over her head, honouring Mr. Weevle and his doorway with a searching glance as she goes past.
Weevle's eye, attended by Mr. Guppy's eye, has again gone round the room and come back. "Well, sir," says Mr. Weevle. "We won't intrude any longer if you'll allow us to go upstairs." "Anywhere, my dear sir, anywhere! You're at home. Make yourself so, pray!" As they go upstairs, Mr. Guppy lifts his eyebrows inquiringly and looks at Tony. Tony shakes his head.
Snagsby, blankly catching his eye, looks upward for a star or so and coughs a cough expressive of not exactly seeing his way out of this conversation. "It's a curious fact, sir," he observes, slowly rubbing his hands, "that he should have been " "Who's he?" interrupts Mr. Weevle. "The deceased, you know," says Mr.
I don't know how it is exactly, but the law seems to put things up in price. Not," adds Mr. Snagsby with his apologetic cough, "that I mean to say a word against the profession I get my living by." Mr. Weevle again glances up and down the court and then looks at the stationer. Mr.
For all this, the court discovers nothing; and as Mrs. Piper and Mrs. Perkins now communicate to the late lodger whose appearance is the signal for a general rally, it is in one continual ferment to discover everything, and more. Mr. Weevle and Mr. Guppy, with every eye in the court's head upon them, knock at the closed door of the late lamented's house, in a high state of popularity.
Weevle, that you're not to put too fine a point upon it that you're rather greasy here, sir?" "Why, I have noticed myself that there is a queer kind of flavour in the place to-night," Mr. Weevle rejoins. "I suppose it's chops at the Sol's Arms." "Chops, do you think? Oh! Chops, eh?" Mr. Snagsby sniffs and tastes again. "Well, sir, I suppose it is.
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