little more seasoning! Well, one or two nights before the young man was
took, I come upstairs while Mr. Brass and Miss Sally was a-sittin by the
office fire and talking softly together. They whispered and laughed for
a long time, about there being no danger if it was well done; that they
must do what their best client, Quilp, desired, and that for his own
reasons, he hated Kit, and wanted to have his reputation ruined. Then
Mr. Brass pulls out his pocket-book, and says, 'Well, here it
is--Quilp's own five-pound note. Kit is coming to-morrow morning, I
know. I'll hold him in conversation, and put this property in his hat,
and then convict him of theft. And if that don't get Kit out of Mr.
Quilp's way, and satisfy his grudge against the lad,' he said, 'the
devil's in it,' Then they seemed to be moving away, and I was afraid to
stop any longer. There!"

The small servant was so much agitated herself that she made no effort
to restrain Mr. Swiveller when he sat up in bed, and hastily demanded
whether this story had been told to anybody.

"How could it be?" replied his nurse. "When I heard 'em say that you was
gone, and so was the lodger, and ever since I come here, you've been out
of your senses, so what would have been the good of telling you then?"

"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "if you'll do me the favor to retire
for a few minutes, and see what sort of a night it is, I'll get up,"

"You mustn't think of such a thing," cried his nurse.

"I must indeed," said the patient. "Whereabouts are my clothes?"

"Oh, I'm so glad--you haven't got any," replied the Marchioness.