I’m worse than the chattering, clattering, brimstone pig at home!” Mr Bucket proceeded, in the same convivial manner as before.

“So, as I happen to be in the habit of coming about your premises, you take me into your confidence, don’t you?”

I think it would be impossible to make an admission with more ill-will, and a worse grace, than Mr Smallweed displayed when he admitted this; rendering it perfectly evident that Mr Bucket was the very last person he would have thought of taking into his confidence, if he could by any possibility have kept him out of it.

“And I go into the business with you, — very pleasant we are over it; and I confirm you in your well- founded fears, that you will-get-yourself-in-to-a-most precious line if you don’t come out with that there will,” said Mr Bucket, emphatically; “and accordingly you arrange with me that it shall be delivered up to this present Mr Jarndyce, on no conditions. If it should prove to be valuable, you trusting yourself to him for your reward; that’s about where it is, ain’t it?”

“That’s what was agreed,” Mr Smallweed assented, with the same bad grace.

“In consequence of which,” said Mr Bucket, dismissing his agreeable manner all at once, and becoming strictly business-like, “you’ve got that will upon your person at the present time; and the only thing that remains for you to do is, just to Out with it!”

Having given us one glance out of the watching corner of his eye, and having given his nose one triumphant rub with his fore-finger, Mr Bucket stood with his eyes fastened on his confidential friend, and his hand stretched forth ready to take the paper and present it to my guardian. It was not produced without much reluctance, and many declarations on the part of Mr Smallweed that he was a poor industrious man, and that he left it to Mr Jarndyce’s honour not to let him lose by his honesty. Little by little, he very slowly took from a breast-pocket a stained discoloured paper, which was much singed upon the outside, and a little burnt at the edges, as if it had long ago been thrown upon a fire; and hastily snatched off again. Mr Bucket lost no time in transferring this paper, with the dexterity of a conjuror, from Mr Smallweed to Mr Jarndyce. As he gave it to my guardian, he whispered behind his fingers:

“Hadn’t settled how to make their market of it. Quarrelled and hinted about it. I laid out twenty pound upon it. First, the avaricious grandchildren split upon him, on account of their objections to his living so unreasonably long, and then they split on one another. Lord! There ain’t one of the family that wouldn’t sell the other for a pound or two, except the old lady — and she’s only out of it because she’s too weak in her mind to drive a bargain.”

“Mr Bucket,” said my guardian aloud, “whatever the worth of this paper may be to any one, my obligations are great to you; and if it be of any worth, I hold myself bound to see Mr Smallweed remunerated accordingly.”

“Not according to your merits, you know,” said Mr Bucket, in friendly explanation to Mr Smallweed. “Don’t you be afraid of that. According to its value.”

“That is what I mean,” said my guardian. “You may observe, Mr Bucket, that I abstain from examining this paper myself. The plain truth is, I have forsworn and abjured the whole business these many years, and my soul is sick of it. But Miss Summerson and I will immediately place the paper in the hands of my solicitor in the cause, and its existence shall be made known without delay to all other parties interested.”

“Mr Jarndyce can’t say fairer than that, you understand,” observed Mr Bucket, to his fellow visitor. “And it being now made clear to you that nobody’s a going to be wronged — which must be a great relief to your mind — we may proceed with the ceremony of chairing you home again.”

He unbolted the door, called in the bearers, wished us good morning, and with a look full of meaning, and a crook of his finger at parting, went his way.