To--be--sure!' added Mr Wegg, looking a little round Mr Boffin, to take him in the rear, and identify this last extraordinary coincidence, 'your wery self-same back!' 'What do you think I was doing, Wegg ?' 'I should judge, sir, that you might be glancing your eye down the street.' 'No, Wegg.

I was a listening.' 'Was you, indeed ?' said Mr Wegg, dubiously.
'Not in a dishonourable way, Wegg, because you was singing to the butcher; and you wouldn't sing secrets to a butcher in the street, you know.' 'It never happened that I did so yet, to the best of my remembrance,' said Mr Wegg, cautiously.

'But I might do it.

A man can't say what he might wish to do some day or another.' (This, not to release any little advantage he might derive from Mr Boffin's avowal.) 'Well,' repeated Boffin, 'I was a listening to you and to him.

And what do you--you haven't got another stool, have you?
I'm rather thick in my breath.' 'I haven't got another, but you're welcome to this,' said Wegg, resigning it.