the shop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divers hard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers. "Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and they are second-hand."
"I shouldn't have thought it!" exclaimed Mr. Winkle, much surprised.
"I hope not," replied Bob Sawyer, "else where's the use of appearances, eh? But what will you take? Do as we do? That's right. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, and bring out the patent digester."
Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced from the closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy.
"You don't take water, of course?" said Bob Sawyer.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle. "It's rather early. I should like to qualify it, if you have no objection."
"None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your conscience," replied Bob Sawyer; tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of the liquor with great relish. "Ben, the pipkin!"
Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hidingplace, a small brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himself upon, particularly because it looked so businesslike. The water in the professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course of time, by various little shovelsfull of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyer took out of a practicable window-seat, labelled "Soda Water," Mr. Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation was becoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance into the shop of a boy, in a sober grey livery and a gold-laced hat, with a'sınall covered basket under his arm: whom Mr. Bob Sawyer immediately hailed with, "Tom, you vagabond, come here."
The boy presented himself accordingly.
"You've been stopping to over all the posts in Bristol, you idle young scamp!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer.
"No, sir, I haven't," replied the boy.
"You had better not!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a
