'It's a treat to me to stand.' 'Lard!' exclaimed Mr Boffin, in a tone of great enjoyment, as he settled himself down, still nursing his stick like a baby, 'it's a pleasant place, this! And then to be shut in on each side, with these ballads, like so many book-leaf blinkers! Why, its delightful!' 'If I am not mistaken, sir,' Mr Wegg delicately hinted, resting a hand on his stall, and bending over the discursive Boffin, 'you alluded to some offer or another that was in your mind ?' 'I'm coming to it! All right.

I'm coming to it! I was going to say that when I listened that morning, I listened with hadmiration amounting to haw.

I thought to myself, "Here's a man with a wooden leg--a literary man with--"' 'N--not exactly so, sir,' said Mr Wegg.
'Why, you know every one of these songs by name and by tune, and if you want to read or to sing any one on 'em off straight, you've only to whip on your spectacles and do it!' cried Mr Boffin.

'I see you at it!' 'Well, sir,' returned Mr Wegg, with a conscious inclination of the head; 'we'll say literary, then.' '"A literary man--WITH a wooden leg--and all Print is open to him!" That's what I thought to myself, that morning,' pursued Mr Boffin, leaning forward to describe, uncramped by the clotheshorse, as large an arc as his right arm could make; '"all Print is open to him!" And it is, ain't it ?' 'Why, truly, sir,' Mr Wegg admitted, with modesty; 'I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print, that I wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing.' 'On the spot ?' said Mr Boffin.
'On the spot.' 'I know'd it! Then consider this.

Here am I, a man without a wooden leg, and yet all print is shut to me.' 'Indeed, sir ?' Mr Wegg returned with increasing self-complacency.
'Education neglected ?' 'Neg--lected!' repeated Boffin, with emphasis.