Werrity is the sort of name Dickens would come up with. Magwitch and Werrity, dealers in hooves and glue, perhaps. Fox is too obvious a tag for an ambitious politician; Dickens would have used a derivative of vulpine. Wulpine, possibly. Werrity and Wulpine, then, dealers in hooves and glue, with a stinking yard in Bow from which the rendering chimney spews its greasy smoke over a widow's flower garden. Something like that.
However crawlingly Fox grovelled yesterday, however ready to lay down his partner for his political life, and whatever mock sincerity the Prime Minister pretended to evince, this was just more sleaze in the public's mind, reinforcing the popular view of Parliament as the place where little men come to get rich. We don't know what Wulpine got from Werrity; chocolates on the pillow, little splits of Moet or amusing cufflinks all seem possible. But over all hangs the stench of the glue works.