A very odd-looking old fellow altogether.
'Here you are again,' repeated Mr Wegg, musing.

'And what are you now?
Are you in the Funns, or where are you?
Have you lately come to settle in this neighbourhood, or do you own to another neighbourhood?
Are you in independent circumstances, or is it wasting the motions of a bow on you?
Come! I'll speculate! I'll invest a bow in you.' Which Mr Wegg, having replaced his tin box, accordingly did, as he rose to bait his gingerbread-trap for some other devoted infant.

The salute was acknowledged with: 'Morning, sir! Morning! Morning!' ('Calls me Sir!' said Mr Wegg, to himself; 'HE won't answer.

A bow gone!') 'Morning, morning, morning!' 'Appears to be rather a 'arty old cock, too,' said Mr Wegg, as before; 'Good morning to YOU, sir.' 'Do you remember me, then ?' asked his new acquaintance, stopping in his amble, one-sided, before the stall, and speaking in a pounding way, though with great good-humour.
'I have noticed you go past our house, sir, several times in the course of the last week or so.' 'Our house,' repeated the other.

'Meaning-- ?' 'Yes,' said Mr Wegg, nodding, as the other pointed the clumsy forefinger of his right glove at the corner house.
'Oh! Now, what,' pursued the old fellow, in an inquisitive manner, carrying his knotted stick in his left arm as if it were a baby, 'what do they allow you now ?' 'It's job work that I do for our house,' returned Silas, drily, and with reticence; 'it's not yet brought to an exact allowance.' 'Oh! It's not yet brought to an exact allowance?
No! It's not yet brought to an exact allowance.