During my communication, the patient Job sat mute and still, fixing his
eyes on the ground, and only betraying, by an occasional elevation of the
brows, that he took the slightest interest in the tale: when, however, I
touched upon the peroration, which so tenderly concluded with the mention
of three hundred pounds a-year, a visible change came over the
countenance of Mr. Jonson. He rubbed his hands with an air of great
content, and one sudden smile broke over his features, and almost buried
his eyes amid the intricate host of wrinkles it called forth: the smile
vanished as rapidly as it came, and Mr. Job turned round to me with a
solemn and sedate aspect.

"Well, your honour," said he, "I'm glad you've told me all; we must see
what can be done. As for Thornton, I'm afraid we shan't make much out of
him, for he's an old offender, whose conscience is as hard as a brick-
bat; but, of Dawson, I hope better things. However, you must let me go
now, for this is a matter that requires a vast deal of private
consideration. I shall call upon you tomorrow, Sir, before ten o'clock,
since you say matters are so pressing; and, I trust, you will then see
that you have no reason to repent of the confidence you have placed in a
man of honour."

So saying, Mr. Job Jonson emptied the remainder of the bottle into his
tumbler, held it up to the light with the gusto of a connoisseur, and
concluded his potations with a hearty smack of the lips, followed by a
long sigh.

"Ah, your honour!" said he, "good wine is a marvellous whetter of the
intellect; but your true philosopher is always moderate: for my part, I
never exceed my two bottles."