Besides, perhaps he will be the better able to answer _my_ questions after his own have been answered." And therewith he turned and swung himself out of the hall.
When he was well gone, I said: "Is it wrong to ask what Mr.Boffin is?
whose name, by the way, reminds me of many pleasant hours passed in reading Dickens." Dick laughed.

"Yes, yes," said he, "as it does us.

I see you take the allusion.

Of course his real name is not Boffin, but Henry Johnson; we only call him Boffin as a joke, partly because he is a dustman, and partly because he will dress so showily, and get as much gold on him as a baron of the Middle Ages.

As why should he not if he likes?
only we are his special friends, you know, so of course we jest with him." I held my tongue for some time after that; but Dick went on: "He is a capital fellow, and you can't help liking him; but he has a weakness: he will spend his time in writing reactionary novels, and is very proud of getting the local colour right, as he calls it; and as he thinks you come from some forgotten corner of the earth, where people are unhappy, and consequently interesting to a story-teller, he thinks he might get some information out of you.