He was highly popular, and I found that he took the familiar department of Mr. Jaggers’s business:  though something of the state of Mr. Jaggers hung about him too, forbidding approach beyond certain limits.  His personal recognition of each successive client was comprised in a nod, and in his settling his hat a little easier on his head with both hands, and then tightening the postoffice, and putting his hands in his pockets.  In one or two instances, there was a difficulty respecting the raising of fees, and then Mr. Wemmick, backing as far as possible from the insufficient money produced, said, “it’s no use, my boy.  I’m only a subordinate.  I can’t take it.  Don’t go on in that way with a subordinate.  If you are unable to make up your quantum, my boy, you had better address yourself to a principal; there are plenty of principals in the profession, you know, and what is not worth the while of one, may be worth the while of another; that’s my recommendation to you, speaking as a subordinate.  Don’t try on useless measures.  Why should you?  Now, who’s next?”

Thus, we walked through Wemmick’s greenhouse, until he turned to me and said, “Notice the man I shall shake hands with.”  I should have done so, without the preparation, as he had shaken hands with no one yet.

Almost as soon as he had spoken, a portly upright man (whom I can see now, as I write) in a well-worn olive-coloured frock-coat, with a peculiar pallor over-spreading the red in his complexion, and eyes that went wandering about when he tried to fix them, came up to a corner of the bars, and put his hand to his hat — which had a greasy and fatty surface like cold broth — with a half-serious and half-jocose military salute.

“Colonel, to you!” said Wemmick; “how are you, Colonel?”

“All right, Mr. Wemmick.”

“Everything was done that could be done, but the evidence was too strong for us, Colonel.”

“Yes, it was too strong, sir — but I don’t care.”

“No, no,” said Wemmick, coolly, “you don’t care.”  Then, turning to me, “Served His Majesty this man.  Was a soldier in the line and bought his discharge.”

I said, “Indeed?” and the man’s eyes looked at me, and then looked over my head, and then looked all round me, and then he drew his hand across his lips and laughed.

“I think I shall be out of this on Monday, sir,” he said to Wemmick.

“Perhaps,” returned my friend, “but there’s no knowing.”

“I am glad to have the chance of bidding you good-bye, Mr. Wemmick,” said the man, stretching out his hand between two bars.

“Thankye,” said Wemmick, shaking hands with him.  “Same to you, Colonel.”

“If what I had upon me when taken, had been real, Mr. Wemmick,” said the man, unwilling to let his hand go, “I should have asked the favour of your wearing another ring — in acknowledgment of your attentions.”

“I’ll accept the will for the deed,” said Wemmick.  “By-the-bye; you were quite a pigeon-fancier.”  The man looked up at the sky.  “I am told you had a remarkable breed of tumblers. could you commission any friend of yours to bring me a pair, of you’ve no further use for ’em?”