I'd die degraded, as I had lived.

I would upon my honour.' Mr Chuckster paused, rapped the fox's head exactly on the nose with the knuckle of the fore-finger, took a pinch of snuff, and looked steadily at Mr Swiveller, as much as to say that if he thought he was going to sneeze, he would find himself mistaken.
'Not contented, Sir,' said Mr Chuckster, 'with making friends with Abel, he has cultivated the acquaintance of his father and mother.
Since he came home from that wild-goose chase, he has been there-- actually been there.

He patronises young Snobby besides; you'll find, Sir, that he'll be constantly coming backwards and forwards to this place: yet I don't suppose that beyond the common forms of civility, he has ever exchanged half-a-dozen words with me.

Now, upon my soul, you know,' said Mr Chuckster, shaking his head gravely, as men are wont to do when they consider things are going a little too far, 'this is altogether such a low-minded affair, that if I didn't feel for the governor, and know that he could never get on without me, I should be obliged to cut the connection.

I should have no alternative.' Mr Swiveller, who sat on another stool opposite to his friend, stirred the fire in an excess of sympathy, but said nothing.
'As to young Snob, sir,' pursued Mr Chuckster with a prophetic look, 'you'll find he'll turn out bad.