ance of reflection, "whether it were Joe, or Jorge."
My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden armchair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all about it beforehand.
"And how much have you got?" asked my sister, laughing. Positively, laughing!
"What would present company say to ten pound?" demanded Joe.
"They'd say," returned my sister, curtly,
"pretty well. Not too much, but pretty well."
"It's more than that, then," said Joe.
That fearful Impostor, Pumblechook, immediately nodded, and said, as he rubbed the arms of his chair: "Its more than that, Mum."
"Why you don't mean to say———" began my sister.
"Yes I do, Mum," said Pumblechook;
"but wait a bit. Go on, Joseph. Good in you! Go on!"
"What would present company say," proceeded Joe, "to twenty pound?"
