My fellow lodger came home in the evening, and was glad at my
coming. His name was Linton, and I changed mine to Elliot. He
was a flippant unstable being, one on whom nothing appeared a
difficulty, in his own estimation, but who could effect very little
after all. He was what is called by some a compositor, in the
Queen's printing house, then conducted by a Mr. James Watson.
In the course of our conversation that night, I told him I was a
first-rate classical scholar, and would gladly turn my attention to
some business wherein my education might avail me something;
and that there was nothing would delight me so much as an
engagement in the Queen's printing office. Linton made no
difficulty in bringing about that arrangement. His answer was:
"Oo, gud sir, you are the very man we want. Gud bless your
breast and your buttons, sir! Aye, that's neither here nor there.
That's all very well. Ha, ha, ha. A by-word in the house, sir. But,
as I was saying, you are the very man we want. You will get any
money you like to ask, sir. Any money you like, sir. God bless
your buttons!--That's settled--All done--Settled, setded--I'll do it,
I'll do it--No more about it; no more about it.
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