called the pump, all day long. Few sons worked their father more, or
disliked him so much: and now, Japhet, you see, from habit, I'm pumping
you."

"You'll soon pump dry, then, for I've very little to tell you," replied
I; "but, tell me, what sort of a person is our master?"

"He's just what you see him, never alters, hardly ever out of humour,
and when he is, he is just as odd as ever. He very often threatens me,
but I have never had a blow yet, although Mr Brookes has complained once
or twice."

"But surely Mr Brookes is not cross?"

"No, he is a very good gentleman; but sometimes I carry on my rigs a
little too far, I must say that. For as Mr Brookes says, people may die
for want of the medicines, because I put down my basket to play. It's
very true; but I can't give up 'peg in the ring' on that account. But
then I only get a box of the ear from Mr Brookes, and that goes for
nothing. Mr Cophagus shakes his stick, and says, 'Bad boy--big
stick--_um_--won't forget--next time--and so on,'" continued Timothy,
laughing; "and it is _so on_, to the end of the chapter."

By this time Mr Cophagus and his assistant had finished their dinner,
and came into the shop. The former looked at me, put his stick to his
nose, "Little boys--always hungry--um--like good dinner--roast
beef--Yorkshire pudding--and so on," and he pointed with the stick to
the back parlour. Timothy and I understood him very well this time: we
went into the parlour, when the housekeeper sat down with us and helped
us. She was a terribly cross, little old woman, but as honest as she was