'I
thought our Governor was here.'
'Well! so he is,' cried Mould.
'Oh! I didn't see you, I'm sure,' said Tacker, looking in a little
farther. 'You wouldn't be inclined to take a walking one of two, with
the plain wood and a tin plate, I suppose?'
'Certainly not,' replied Mr Mould, 'much too common. Nothing to say to
it.'
'I told 'em it was precious low,' observed Mr Tacker.
'Tell 'em to go somewhere else. We don't do that style of business
here,' said Mr Mould. 'Like their impudence to propose it. Who is it?'
'Why,' returned Tacker, pausing, 'that's where it is, you see. It's the
beadle's son-in-law.'
'The beadle's son-in-law, eh?' said Mould. 'Well! I'll do it if the
beadle follows in his cocked hat; not else. We carry it off that way, by
looking official, but it'll be low enough, then. His cocked hat, mind!'
'I'll take care, sir,' rejoined Tacker. 'Oh! Mrs Gamp's below, and wants
to speak to you.'
'Tell Mrs Gamp to come upstairs,' said Mould. 'Now Mrs Gamp, what's YOUR
news?'
The lady in question was by this time in the doorway, curtseying to
Mrs Mould.
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