Touching his hat was about the only piece of propriety he was up to.
'What, he's not a brick, then ?' asked Sponge.
'Mean man,' replied Watson with a shake of the head; 'mean man,' he repeated.

'You're nowise connected with the fam'ly, I s'pose ?' he asked with a look of suspicion lest he might be committing himself.
'No,' replied Sponge; 'no; merely an acquaintance.

We met at Laverick Wells, and he pressed me to come and see him.' 'Indeed!' said Watson, feeling at ease again.
'Who did you live with before you came here ?' asked Mr.Sponge, after a pause.
'I lived many years--the greater part of my life, indeed--with Sir Harry Swift.

_He_ was a _real_ gentleman now, if you like--free, open-handed gentleman--none of your close-shavin', cheese-parin' sort of gentlemen, or imitation gentlemen, as I calls them, but a man who knew what was due to good servants and gave them it.

We had good wages, and all the proper "reglars." Bless you, I could sell a new suit of clothes there every year, instead of having to wear the last keeper's cast-offs, and a hat that would disgrace anything but a flay-crow.