Johnson; we only call him Boffin as a joke, partly because he is a
dustman, and partly because he will dress so showily, and get as much
gold on him as a baron of the Middle Ages. As why should he not if
he likes? only we are his special friends, you know, so of course we
jest with him."

I held my tongue for some time after that; but Dick went on:

"He is a capital fellow, and you can't help liking him; but he has a
weakness: he will spend his time in writing reactionary novels, and
is very proud of getting the local colour right, as he calls it; and
as he thinks you come from some forgotten corner of the earth, where
people are unhappy, and consequently interesting to a story-teller,
he thinks he might get some information out of you. O, he will be
quite straightforward with you, for that matter. Only for your own
comfort beware of him!"

"Well, Dick," said the weaver, doggedly, "I think his novels are very
good."

"Of course you do," said Dick; "birds of a feather flock together;
mathematics and antiquarian novels stand on much the same footing.
But here he comes again."

And in effect the Golden Dustman hailed us from the hall-door; so we
all got up and went into the porch, before which, with a strong grey
horse in the shafts, stood a carriage ready for us which I could not
help noticing. It was light and handy, but had none of that
sickening vulgarity which I had known as inseparable from the
carriages of our time, especially the "elegant" ones, but was as