"The worst in the world," said Handy; "there--there": and stooping
over the petition, the learned clerk made a huge cross on the place
left for his signature.

"That's the game," said Handy, triumphantly pocketing the petition;
"we're all in a boat now, that is, the nine of us; and as for old
Bunce, and his cronies, they may--" But as he was hobbling off to the
door, with a crutch on one side and a stick on the other, he was met
by Bunce himself.

"Well Handy, and what may old Bunce do?" said the gray-haired, upright
senior.

Handy muttered something, and was departing; but he was stopped in the
doorway by the huge frame of the newcomer.

"You've been doing no good here, Abel Handy," said he, "'tis plain to
see that; and 'tisn't much good, I'm thinking, you ever do."

"I mind my own business, Master Bunce," muttered the other, "and do
you do the same. It ain't nothing to you what I does;--and your
spying and poking here won't do no good nor yet no harm."

"I suppose then, Job," continued Bunce, not noticing his opponent, "if
the truth must out, you've stuck your name to that petition of theirs
at last."

Skulpit looked as though he were about to sink into the ground with
shame.