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"It's hard in the law to spile a man, I think. It's hard enough

to kill him, but it's wery hard to spile him, sir."

"Not at all," retained the ancient clerk. "Speak well of the law.

Take care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the

law to take care of itself. I give you that advice."

"It's the damp, sir, what settles on my chest and voice," said

Jerry. "I leave you to judge what a damp way of earning a living

mine is."

"Well, well," said the old clerk; "we all have our various ways

of gaining a livelihood. Some of us have damp ways, and some of

us have dry ways. Here is the letter. Go along."

Jerry took the letter, and, remarking to himself with less

internal deference than he made an outward show of, "You are a

lean old one, too," made his bow, informed his son, in passing,

of his destination, and went his way.