12 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.
"My watch has stopped," said Mr. Nickleby; "I don't know from what cause."
"Not wound up," said Noggs.
"Yes it is," said Mr. Nickleby.
"Over-wound then," rejoined Noggs.
"That can't very well be," observed Mr. Nickleby.
"Must be," said Noggs.
"Well!" said Mr. Nickleby, putting the repeater back in his pocket; "perhaps it is."
Noggs gave a peculiar grunt, as was his custom at the end of all disputes with his master, to imply that he (Noggs) triumphed; and (as he rarely spoke to anybody unless somebody spoke to him) fell into a grim silence, and rubbed his hands slowly over each other: cracking the joints of his fingers, and squeezing them into all possible distortions. The incessant performance of this routine on every occasion, and the communication of a fixed and rigid look to his unaffected eye, so as to make it uniform with the other, and to render it impossible for anybody to determine where or at what he was looking, were two among the numerous peculiarities of Mr. Noggs, which struck an inexperienced observer at first sight.
"I am going to the London Tavern this morning," said Mr. Nickleby.
"Public meeting?" inquired Noggs.
Mr. Nickleby nodded. "I expect a letter from the solicitor respecting that mortgage of Ruddle's. If it comes at all, it will be here by the two o'clock delivery. I shall leave the city about that time and walk to Charing-Cross on the left-hand side of the way; if there are any letters, come and meet me, and bring them with you."
Noggs nodded; and as he nodded, there came a ring at the office bell. The master looked up from his papers, and the clerk calmly remained in a stationary position.
"The bell," said Noggs, as though in explanation. "At home?"