re-endorse the letter, as coolly
as he had done before. '"Send young Gay."'
     'Call him back,' said Mr Dombey.
     Mr Carker was quick to do so, and Walter was quick to return.
     'Gay,'  said Mr  Dombey, turning  a  little to  look  at  him  over his
shoulder. 'Here is a -
     'An opening,' said Mr Carker, with his mouth stretched to the utmost.
     'In  the West Indies.  At Barbados. I am going  to  send you,' said  Mr
Dombey, scorning to embellish the bare truth, 'to fill a junior situation in
the  counting-house at Barbados. Let your  Uncle know  from me, that  I have
chosen you to go to the West Indies.'
     Walter's breath  was so completely taken away by his astonishment, that
he could hardly find enough for the repetition of the words 'West Indies.'
     'Somebody must go,' said Mr Dombey, 'and you are young and healthy, and
your Uncle's  circumstances  are not  good. Tell  your  Uncle that  you  are
appointed. You will not go yet. There  will  be an interval of a month  - or
two perhaps.'
     'Shall I remain there, Sir?' inquired Walter.
     'Will you remain there, Sir!' repeated Mr Dombey, turning a little more
round towards him. 'What do you mean? What does he mean, Carker?'
     'Live there, Sir,' faltered Walter.
     'Certainly,' returned Mr Dombey.
     Walter bowed.
     'That's all,' said Mr Dombey,  resuming his letters. 'You will  explain
to him in good  time about the usual outfit and so forth, Carker, of course.
He needn't wait, Carker.'
     'You needn't wait, Gay,' observed Mr Carker: bare to the gums.
     'Unless,' said Mr Dombey,  stopping in his reading without looking  off
the letter, and seeming to listen. 'Unless he has anything to say.'
     'No, Sir,' returned Walter, agitated and confused, and almost  stunned,
as an infinite variety of  pictures presented themselves to  his mind; among
which Captain Cuttle, in his glazed hat, transfixed with astonishment at Mrs
MacStinger's, and his  uncle bemoaning his loss in the little back  parlour,
held prominent places. 'I hardly know - I - I am much obliged, Sir.'
     'He needn't wait, Carker,' said Mr Dombey.
     And as Mr Carker  again echoed the words, and also collected his papers
as if  he were  going away too, Walter felt  that his  lingering any  longer
would  be an unpardonable intrusion - especially as he had nothing to  say -
and therefore walked out quite confounded.
     Going  along   the  passage,   with   the  mingled   consciousness  and
helplessness of a dream, he heard  Mr Dombey's door shut again, as Mr Carker
came out: and immediately afterwards that gentleman called to him.
     'Bring  your  friend  Mr Carker  the  Junior  to my  room, Sir, if  you
please.'
     Walter went to the  outer office and apprised  Mr Carker the  Junior of
his errand, who accordingly  came out  from behind a  partition where he sat
alone in one  corner, and  returned  with  him  to the room of Mr Carker the
Manager.
     That  gentleman  was  standing with his back to the fire, and his hands
under his coat-tails, looking over his white cravat,  as unpromisingly as Mr
Dombey himself could have looked. He received them without any change in his
attitude  or softening of his harsh and black expression: merely  signing to
Walter to close the door.
     'John Carker,'  said the Manager,  when this was done, turning suddenly
upon his brother,  with his two rows  of teeth bristling as if he would have
bitten him, 'what is the league between you and this young man, in virtue of
which I am haunted and  hunted by the mention of your name? Is it not enough
for you, John Carker, that I am your  near relation, and can't detach myself
from that - '
     'Say  disgrace, James,'  interposed the  other in a  low voice, finding
that he stammered for a word. 'You mean it, and have reason, say disgrace.'
     'From that disgrace,'  assented his brother with keen emphasis, 'but is
the fact to  be blurted out and trumpeted, and proclaimed continually in the
presence of the very House! In moments of confidence too? Do you think  your
name is  calculated to  harmonise  in this place with  trust and confidence,
John Carker?'
     'No,'  returned  the  other.  'No,  James.  God  knows  I have  no such
thought.'
     'What is your  thought, then?' said his brother, 'and why do you thrust
yourself in my way? Haven't you injured me enough already?'
     'I have never injured you, James, wilfully.'
     'You are my brother,' said the Manager. 'That's injury enough.'
     'I wish I could undo it, James.'
     'I wish you could and would.'
     During  this  conversation, Walter had  looked from one  brother to the
other, with  pain and  amazement. He who was the Senior in years, and Junior
in the House, stood, with his eyes cast upon the ground, and his head bowed,
humbly  listening to the reproaches of the other. Though these were rendered
very  bitter by the tone and look with  which they were  accompanied, and by
the presence of Walter whom they  so  much surprised and shocked, he entered
no other protest against them than by slightly raising  his right hand  in a
deprecatory manner, as  if he would have said, 'Spare me!' So, had they been
blows, and  he a brave man, under strong constraint, and  weakened by bodily
suffering, he might have stood before the executioner.
     Generous and quick in all his  emotions, and regarding  himself  as the
innocent  occasion of  these taunts,  Walter  now  struck in, with  all  the
earnestness he felt.
     'Mr  Carker,' he said,  addressing  himself to  the  Manager.  'Indeed,
indeed, this  is  my fault solely. In  a  kind of  heedlessness, for which I
cannot blame myself enough, I have, I have no doubt, mentioned Mr Carker the
Junior much oftener than was necessary; and have allowed  his name sometimes
to slip through my lips, when it was against your expressed wish. But it has
been my own mistake, Sir. We have never exchanged one word upon the  subject
- very few,  indeed, on any  subject. And it  has  not been,'  added Walter,
after a moment's pause, 'all  heedlessness on  my part, Sir; for I have felt
an interest  in Mr Carker  ever since I have been here, and have hardly been
able to help speaking of him sometimes, when I have thought of him so much!'
     Walter said this from his soul, and with the very breath of honour. For
he looked upon the bowed head, and the downcast eyes, and upraised hand, and
thought,  'I have felt it; and  why should I not avow  it in  behalf of this
unfriended, broken man!'
     Mr  Carker  the Manager looked  at him, as  he  spoke, and when he  had
finished  speaking, with a  smile that  seemed  to divide his face  into two
parts.
     'You are an excitable  youth,  Gay,'  he said; 'and should endeavour to
cool  down  a little  now,  for  it would  be  unwise  to encourage feverish
predispositions. Be as cool as  you can, Gay.  Be  as  cool  as you can. You
might have asked Mr John Carker himself (if you have not done so) whether he
claims to be, or is, an object of such strong interest.'
     'James, do me justice,' said his brother. 'I have claimed nothing;  and
I claim nothing. Believe me, on my -
     'Honour?'  said his brother, with another smile,  as he warmed  himself
before the fire.
     'On my Me -  on my fallen life!'  returned the  other, in the  same low
voice, but with a deeper stress on his  words than he had yet seemed capable
of giving them. 'Believe me,  I have held myself aloof, and kept alone. This
has been unsought by me. I have avoided him and everyone.
     'Indeed, you have  avoided me, Mr  Carker,' said Walter, with the tears
rising  to  his  eyes;  so true  was  his  compassion. 'I  know  it,  to  my
disappointment and regret. When I first came here, and ever since, I am sure
I  have tried to be as much  your friend, as  one of my age could presume to
be; but it has been of no use.
     'And observe,' said the Manager, taking  him up quickly, 'it will be of
still less use,  Gay, if  you persist  in forcing Mr John Carker's  name  on
people's attention. That is not the  way to befriend Mr John Carker. Ask him
if he thinks it is.'
     'It  is no service to  me,' said the brother. 'It only leads to  such a
conversation as the present, which  I need not say I could have well spared.
No one can be a better friend to me:' he spoke here  very distinctly, as  if
he  would impress it upon Walter: 'than in forgetting me, and leaving me  to
go my way, unquestioned and unnoticed.'
     'Your memory not being retentive, Gay, of what you are told by others,'
said  Mr  Carker  the  Manager, warming  himself  with great  and  increased
satisfaction, 'I thought it  well that you should be told this from the best
authority,' nodding towards his brother.  'You are not likely  to forget  it
now, I hope. That's all, Gay. You can go.
     Walter  passed  out  at the door, and was about to close  it after him,
when, hearing the voices of the brothers again,  and also the mention of his
own name, he  stood irresolutely, with his hand upon the lock, and  the door
ajar, uncertain whether to return or go away. In this  position he could not
help overhearing what followed.
     'Think  of me  more leniently, if you  can, James,' said  John  Carker,
'when I  tell you  I  have had  - how  could I help having, with my history,
written here' - striking himself upon the breast - 'my whole heart  awakened
by my observation of  that boy, Walter Gay. I saw  in him when he first came
here, almost my other self.'
     'Your other self!' repeated the Manager, disdainfully.
     'Not as  I am, but  as  I was when I first came here too; as  sanguine,
giddy,   youthful,  inexperienced;  flushed  with   the  same  restless  and
adventurous fancies; and  full of the same qualities, fraught with the  same
capacity of leading on to good or evil.'
     'I hope not,' said his brother,  with some hidden and sarcastic meaning
in his tone.
     'You strike me  sharply;  and your hand  is steady, and  your thrust is
very  deep,' returned the other, speaking (or  so Walter thought) as if some
cruel weapon actually stabbed him as he spoke.  'I imagined all this when he
was a boy. I believed it. It was a truth to me. I saw him lightly walking on
the edge of an unseen gulf where so many others walk with  equal gaiety, and
from which
     'The old excuse,' interrupted his  brother, as he stirred the fire. 'So
many. Go on. Say, so many fall.'
     'From which ONE traveller fell,' returned  the other, 'who set forward,
on  his  way, a boy like  him, and  missed  his  footing more and more,  and
slipped a little and  a little lower; and went  on stumbling still, until he
fell  headlong and found  himself  below  a  shattered  man.  Think  what  I
suffered, when I watched that boy.'
     'You have only yourself to thank for it,' returned the brother.
     'Only myself,'  he assented with a sigh.  'I don't  seek to divide  the
blame or shame.'
     'You have divided the shame,' James Carker muttered through  his teeth.
And, through so many and such close teeth, he could mutter well.
     'Ah, James,' returned his  brother, speaking  for the first time  in an
accent of reproach, and seeming, by the sound of his  voice, to have covered
his face with his hands, 'I have been, since then, a useful foil to you. You
have trodden  on me  freely  in  your climbing up. Don't spurn me  with your
heel!'
     A  silence  ensued.  After a  time,  Mr  Carker the  Manager  was heard
rustling among his papers, as if he had resolved to bring the interview to a
conclusion. At the same time his brother withdrew nearer to the door.
     'That's all,' he  said. 'I watched  him  with such  trembling  and such
fear, as was some little punishment to me, until he passed the place where I
first fell; and then, though  I had been his father, I believe I never could
have thanked God  more devoutly. I didn't dare to warn  him, and advise him;
but if  I had seen direct  cause, I would have shown  him my example. I  was
afraid to be seen  speaking with him, lest  it should be thought  I  did him
harm, and tempted  him to evil, and  corrupted him: or lest I really should.
There may be such contagion in me; I  don't know.  Piece out my  history, in
connexion with young Walter Gay, and what he has  made me feel; and think of
me more leniently, James, if you can.
     With  these words he came out to where Walter was standing. He turned a
little paler when he saw him there, and paler yet when  Walter caught him by
the hand, and said in a whisper:
     'Mr Carker, pray let me thank  you! Let me say how much I feel for you!
How  sorry I am,  to  have  been the unhappy cause of all this! How I almost
look upon you  now as my protector and guardian! How very, very much, I feel
obliged to you  and pity you!' said Walter,  squeezing  both his  hands, and
hardly knowing, in his agitation, what he did or said.
     Mr Morfin's room being close at hand and empty, and the door wide open,
they moved thither by one accord: the passage being seldom free from someone
passing to or fro. When they were there, and Walter saw in  Mr Carker's face
some traces of the emotion within, he  almost felt as if  he had  never seen
the face before; it was so greatly changed.
     'Walter,' he said, laying his hand  on his shoulder. 'I  am far removed
from you, and may I ever be. Do you know what I am?'
     'What you  are!' appeared to  hang on Walter's lips, as he regarded him
attentively.
     'It was begun,' said Carker, 'before my twenty-first birthday  - led up
to, long before, but not begun till near that time. I had robbed them when I
came of age. I robbed them afterwards. Before my twenty-second birthday,  it
was all found out; and then, Walter, from all men's society, I died.'
     Again his last  few words hung  trembling upon  Walter's lips,  but  he
could neither utter them, nor any of his own.
     'The House was very  good to me. May  Heaven reward the old man for his
forbearance! This one, too, his son, who was then newly in the Firm, where I
had held great trust! I was called into that room  which is now his - I have
never entered  it  since - and came out, what you  know me. For many years I
sat in  my  present seat,  alone as now,  but  then  a known and  recognised
example  to  the  rest. They were all  merciful to me, and I lived. Time has
altered that part of my poor expiation; and I think,  except the three heads
of the  House, there is  no  one here who knows my story rightly. Before the
little boy grows up, and has it told  to him,  my corner may  be  vacant.  I
would rather  that it might be so! This is the only change to  me since that
day, when I left all youth, and hope, and good  men's company, behind me  in
that room. God bless you, Walter! Keep you, and all dear to you, in honesty,
or strike them dead!'
     Some  recollection  of  his  trembling  from head  to  foot, as if with
excessive  cold, and of  his bursting into tears,  was all that Walter could
add to this, when he tried to recall exactly what had passed between them.
     When  Walter  saw him next,  he was bending over  his  desk  in his old
silent, drooping, humbled way. Then, observing him at his work, and  feeling
how  resolved he  evidently  was that  no further  intercourse  should arise
between them, and thinking again and again on all he had seen and heard that
morning  in so short  a  time, in  connexion with  the  history  of both the
Carkers, Walter could hardly believe that he  was under orders for the  West
Indies,  and  would  soon be lost to  Uncle Sol, and Captain Cuttle,  and to
glimpses few and far between of Florence Dombey - no, he meant Paul - and to
all he loved, and liked, and looked for, in his daily life.
     But it was  true,  and the news  had  already penetrated  to the  outer
office; for while he sat with  a heavy heart, pondering on these things, and
resting  his  head upon  his arm, Perch  the  messenger, descending from his
mahogany  bracket, and  jogging his elbow, begged his pardon, but  wished to
say in his ear, Did he think he could arrange to send home  to England a jar
of preserved Ginger, cheap, for Mrs Perch's own eating, in the course of her
recovery from her next confinement?

        CHAPTER 14.
     Paul grows more and more Old-fashioned, and goes Home for the Holidays

     When  the Midsummer vacation  approached, no indecent manifestations of
joy were  exhibited by  the  leaden-eyed young gentlemen assembled at Doctor
Blimber's. Any  such violent expression as  'breaking up,'  would have  been
quite inapplicable  to that polite establishment. The young  gentlemen oozed
away, semi-annually, to their own homes; but they never broke up. They would
have scorned the action.
     Tozer, who was  constantly galled  and  tormented by  a  starched white
cambric neckerchief, which he wore at  the express  desire of Mrs Tozer, his
parent, who, designing him  for the Church,  was of opinion that he couldn't
be in that forward state of preparation  too soon - Tozer said, indeed, that
choosing between  two  evils,  he thought he would rather stay where he was,
than  go home. However inconsistent this declaration might  appear with that
passage in Tozer's Essay on the subject,  wherein he  had observed 'that the
thoughts of  home and all its recollections, awakened in his  mind the  most
pleasing emotions of anticipation and delight,' and had also likened himself
to a  Roman General, flushed  with a recent victory over the Iceni, or laden
with Carthaginian spoil, advancing within a few hours' march of the Capitol,
presupposed, for the purposes of the simile, to be the dwelling-place of Mrs
Tozer, still it  was very  sincerely  made. For  it seemed that Tozer  had a
dreadful  Uncle, who  not  only  volunteered  examinations  of  him,  in the
holidays, on abstruse  points,  but twisted innocent events and things,  and
wrenched them  to  the same  fell purpose. So that if this Uncle took him to
the Play, or, on a similar pretence of kindness, carried him to see a Giant,
or a  Dwarf, or a Conjuror,  or  anything, Tozer  knew  he had read  up some
classical allusion to the subject beforehand, and was thrown into a state of
mortal  apprehension:  not foreseeing  where he  might  break  out, or  what
authority he might not quote against him.
     As  to Briggs, his father made no show of artifice about it.  He  never
would leave him alone. So numerous and severe were the mental trials of that
unfortunate youth  in vacation time,  that the friends of the  family  (then
resident near Bayswater,  London) seldom  approached the ornamental piece of
water in Kensington Gardens,' without  a  vague expectation of seeing Master
Briggs's hat floating on the  surface, and an  unfinished  exercise lying on
the bank.  Briggs,  therefore, was not at  all  sanguine  on the  subject of
holidays;  and these two sharers of  little Paul's  bedroom were  so fair  a
sample of the young gentlemen  in general, that the most  elastic among them
contemplated the arrival of those festive periods with genteel resignation.
     It was far otherwise  with little Paul. The end of these first holidays
was to witness his  separation from Florence, but who ever looked forward to
the end  of holidays whose  beginning was not yet come! Not Paul, assuredly.
As the  happy time drew near,  the lions and tigers climbing up  the bedroom
walls became quite tame  and frolicsome.  The grim sly faces  in the squares
and  diamonds of  the  floor-cloth, relaxed and peeped  out at him with less
wicked eyes. The grave old clock had more  of  personal interest in the tone
of its  formal inquiry; and the restless sea  went rolling  on all night, to
the sounding of  a  melancholy strain - yet it was  pleasant too - that rose
and fell with the waves, and rocked him, as it were, to sleep.
     Mr Feeder, B.A., seemed to think that he, too, would enjoy the holidays
very much. Mr Toots projected a life of  holidays from that time forth; for,
as he regularly informed Paul every day, it was  his 'last half'  at  Doctor
Blimber's, and he was going to begin to come into his property directly.
     It was perfectly understood between Paul and  Mr Toots, that they  were
intimate  friends,  notwithstanding  their distance  in  point of  years and
station. As the vacation approached, and Mr Toots breathed harder and stared
oftener in Paul's society, than he had done before,  Paul knew that he meant
he was sorry they were going to lose sight of each other, and felt very much
obliged to him for his patronage and good opinion.
     It  was  even  understood  by Doctor  Blimber, Mrs  Blimber,  and  Miss
Blimber,  as  well as by the  young  gentlemen  in general,  that Toots  had
somehow  constituted himself  protector  and  guardian  of  Dombey,  and the
circumstance  became so notorious, even  to  Mrs Pipchin, that the good  old
creature cherished feelings of  bitterness and jealousy against Toots;  and,
in  the   sanctuary  of  her  own  home,  repeatedly   denounced  him  as  a
'chuckle-headed  noodle.' Whereas the  innocent Toots  had no more  idea  of
awakening Mrs Pipchin's wrath, than he had of any other definite possibility
or proposition. On the contrary, he was  disposed  to consider her rather  a
remarkable  character, with  many points  of  interest  about her.  For this
reason he smiled on her with so much urbanity, and asked her how she did, so
often, in the course  of her  visits  to  little Paul, that at  last she one
night told him plainly,  she wasn't used to it, whatever he might think; and
she could not, and she would not  bear it, either from himself or  any other
puppy  then existing: at which unexpected acknowledgment of  his civilities,
Mr Toots was so alarmed that he secreted himself in a retired spot until she
had gone. Nor did he ever again face  the doughty Mrs  Pipchin, under Doctor
Blimber's roof.
     They were within two  or three  weeks  of the holidays,  when, one day,
Cornelia Blimber called Paul into her room, and said, 'Dombey, I am going to
send home your analysis.'
     'Thank you, Ma'am,' returned Paul.
     'You know what I mean,  do you, Dombey?' inquired Miss Blimber, looking
hard at him, through the spectacles.
     'No, Ma'am,' said Paul.
     'Dombey, Dombey,' said  Miss Blimber,  'I begin  to be afraid you are a
sad boy. When  you don't know the  meaning of an  expression,  why don't you
seek for information?'
     'Mrs Pipchin told me I wasn't to ask questions,' returned Paul.
     'I  must beg  you not to  mention Mrs  Pipchin to  me, on any  account,
Dombey,' returned Miss Blimber. 'I couldn't think of allowing it. The course
of study here, is very far removed from  anything of that sort. A repetition
of such allusions would make it necessary for me to request to hear, without
a mistake, before breakfast-time to-morrow  morning, from  Verbum  personale
down to simillimia cygno.'
     'I didn't mean, Ma'am - ' began little Paul.
     'I must trouble you not to tell me that you didn't mean, if you please,
Dombey,'  said  Miss Blimber,  who  preserved  an  awful politeness  in  her
admonitions. 'That is a line of argument I couldn't dream of permitting.'
     Paul felt  it  safest to say nothing at all, so  he only looked at Miss
Blimber's spectacles.  Miss Blimber having  shaken her head at him  gravely,
referred to a paper lying before her.
     '"Analysis of the character of P.  Dombey."  If my  recollection serves
me,'  said  Miss Blimber  breaking  off,  'the word analysis  as opposed  to
synthesis, is thus defined by  Walker. "The resolution of an object, whether
of the senses or of the intellect, into  its first elements." As opposed  to
synthesis, you observe. Now you know what analysis is, Dombey.'
     Dombey didn't seem to  be absolutely  blinded by the light let  in upon
his intellect, but he made Miss Blimber a little bow.
     '"Analysis,"'  resumed Miss  Blimber, casting  her eye  over the paper,
'"of the character of P. Dombey." I find that the natural capacity of Dombey
is extremely  good; and that his general disposition to study may be  stated
in an equal  ratio. Thus, taking eight as our standard and highest number, I
find these qualities in Dombey stated each at six three-fourths!'
     Miss Blimber paused to see how Paul received this news. Being undecided
whether  six  three-fourths  meant  six  pounds fifteen,  or sixpence  three
farthings, or six foot  three, or three quarters past six, or six somethings
that he hadn't learnt yet, with  three unknown something  elses  over,  Paul
rubbed his hands and looked  straight at Miss Blimber. It happened to answer
as well as anything else he could have done; and Cornelia proceeded.
     '"Violence two. Selfishness two. Inclination to low company, as evinced
in the case of a person  named Glubb,  originally seven, but since  reduced.
Gentlemanly demeanour four, and  improving with advancing years." Now what I
particularly  wish  to  call  your  attention to,  Dombey,  is  the  general
observation at the close of this analysis.'
     Paul set himself to follow it with great care.
     '"It may be generally observed of Dombey,"'  said Miss Blimber, reading
in a loud voice, and  at every second word  directing her spectacles towards
the  little figure  before her: '"that  his  abilities and inclinations  are
good, and that he has made as much progress as under the circumstances could
have been expected. But it is to be lamented of this young gentleman that he
is  singular (what  is  usually  termed old-fashioned) in his  character and
conduct,  and that, without  presenting anything in  either which distinctly
calls for reprobation, he is often very unlike other young  gentlemen of his
age  and social position." Now, Dombey,'  said Miss Blimber, laying down the
paper, 'do you understand that?'
     'I think I do, Ma'am,' said Paul.
     'This analysis, you see, Dombey,'  Miss Blimber continued, 'is going to
be sent home to your respected parent. It will naturally be  very painful to
him  to  find that  you are  singular in your character and  conduct. It  is
naturally painful to us; for we can't like you, you know, Dombey, as well as
we could wish.'
     She touched the child upon a tender point. He had  secretly become more
and more solicitous from day to day, as the time of his departure drew  more
near, that all  the  house  should like him.  From some  hidden reason, very
imperfectly  understood  by  himself - if  understood  at  all  - he  felt a
gradually  increasing  impulse of affection,  towards almost  everything and
everybody in the place. He could not bear to think that they would be  quite
indifferent to him when he was gone. He  wanted them to remember him kindly;
and he had made it  his business even  to conciliate  a  great hoarse shaggy
dog, chained up at the back of the house, who had previously been the terror
of his life: that even he might miss him when he was no longer there.
     Little  thinking  that  in this, he only  showed  again  the difference
between himself  and  his compeers,  poor  tiny  Paul set  it forth to  Miss
Blimber as well  as he  could, and begged her,  in despite  of the  official
analysis, to have the goodness  to try and like him. To Mrs Blimber, who had
joined them,  he preferred  the same petition:  and when that lady could not
forbear,  even in his presence, from giving utterance to  her often-repeated
opinion, that he was an odd child, Paul  told her  that he was sure  she was
quite right; that he thought it must be  his bones,  but he didn't know; and
that he hoped she would overlook it, for he was fond of them all.
     'Not so  fond,'  said Paul,  with a  mixture  of timidity  and  perfect
frankness, which was one of the most peculiar and most engaging qualities of
the child, 'not so fond as I am of Florence, of course; that could never be.
You couldn't expect that, could you, Ma'am?'
     'Oh! the old-fashioned little soul!' cried Mrs Blimber, in a whisper.
     'But  I  like  everybody  here very much,' pursued Paul, 'and I  should
grieve to go away, and think that anyone was glad that I was gone, or didn't
care.'
     Mrs  Blimber was now quite sure that  Paul was the oddest  child in the
world; and when  she  told  the Doctor what had passed, the  Doctor  did not
controvert his wife's opinion. But he said, as he had said before, when Paul
first came, that study would do much; and he  also said,  as he had  said on
that occasion, 'Bring him on, Cornelia! Bring him on!'
     Cornelia had always brought him on as vigorously as she could; and Paul
had had a hard life of it. But over and above the getting through his tasks,
he had long had another purpose always present to him, and to which he still
held  fast.  It was, to be a  gentle, useful,  quiet  little fellow,  always
striving to secure the  love and attachment of the rest; and though  he  was
yet often to  be seen at his  old post on the stairs, or watching the  waves
and clouds from his solitary window,  he was oftener  found,  too, among the
other boys, modestly rendering them some little  voluntary service.  Thus it
came to pass, that even among those rigid and absorbed young anchorites, who
mortified themselves beneath the roof  of Doctor Blimber, Paul was an object
of general interest; a  fragile little  plaything  that they all liked,  and
that no one would have thought of treating roughly. But he  could not change
his nature, or rewrite the analysis;  and so they all agreed that Dombey was
old-fashioned.
     There were some immunities, however, attaching to the character enjoyed
by no one else. They could  have better spared  a newer-fashioned child, and
that alone was much. When the others only bowed to Doctor Blimber and family
on retiring for the night, Paul would stretch out  his morsel of a hand, and
boldly shake the Doctor's; also Mrs  Blimber's;  also Cornelia's. If anybody
was  to  be  begged  off from  impending punishment,  Paul  was  always  the
delegate. The  weak-eyed  young  man  himself  had  once consulted  him,  in
reference to  a little  breakage  of glass  and  china.  And  it  was darKly
rumoured that the  butler,  regarding him with favour such as that stern man
had never shown  before to mortal boy, had sometimes mingled porter with his
table-beer to make him strong.
     Over and above these extensive privileges, Paul had free right of entry
to Mr Feeder's room, from which apartment he had twice led Mr Toots into the
open air in a state of faintness, consequent on an  unsuccessful attempt  to
smoke a very  blunt cigar:  one  of a  bundle which that young gentleman had
covertly purchased on the shingle  from a  most desperate smuggler, who  had
acknowledged, in confidence, that two hundred pounds was the price set  upon
his  head, dead  or alive,  by  the Custom House.  It was  a snug  room,  Mr
Feeder's,  with his bed  in another little room inside of  it;  and a flute,
which  Mr  Feeder  couldn't  play  yet,  but  was  going to make a  point of
learning, he said, hanging up over the  fireplace. There  were some books in
it, too,  and a fishing-rod; for  Mr Feeder said he  should certainly make a
point of  learning to fish, when he could find time. Mr Feeder  had amassed,
with  similar  intentions, a beautiful  little curly secondhand key-bugle, a
chess-board and  men, a Spanish Grammar, a set of sketching materials, and a
pair  of boxing-gloves. The art  of  self-defence  Mr  Feeder said he should
undoubtedly make a point of learning, as he  considered it the duty of every
man to do; for it might lead to the protection of  a female in distress. But
Mr Feeder's  great possession was a large green jar of snuff, which Mr Toots
had brought down as a present, at  the  close of the  last vacation; and for
which he  had paid  a high price,  having  been the genuine property of  the
Prince Regent. Neither Mr Toots nor Mr Feeder could partake of  this or  any
other  snuff,  even in  the most stinted and moderate  degree, without being
seized with convulsions of sneezing. Nevertheless it was their great delight
to moisten a box-full with cold tea, stir it up on a piece of parchment with
a paper-knife, and devote themselves to its  consumption then and there.  In
the  course of  which  cramming  of  their  noses,  they  endured surprising
torments  with  the  constancy  of  martyrs:  and,  drinking  table-beer  at
intervals, felt all the glories of dissipation.
     To little Paul sitting silent  in their company, and by the side of his
chief patron, Mr Toots, there was a dread charm in these reckless occasions:
and when Mr Feeder spoke  of the dark mysteries of London, and told Mr Toots
that he was going to observe it himself closely  in all its ramifications in
the approaching  holidays, and for  that purpose  had  made  arrangements to
board with two old maiden ladies at Peckham, Paul regarded him as if he were
the hero of some book of travels or wild adventure, and was almost afraid of
such a slashing person.
     Going  into this room  one  evening, when the holidays were  very near,
Paul found Mr  Feeder filling up the blanks  in some printed  letters, while
some others, already filled up and  strewn before him, were being folded and
sealed by Mr Toots. Mr Feeder said, 'Aha, Dombey, there you are, are you?' -
for they were  always kind  to  him, and  glad to  see him - and then  said,
tossing one of  the letters towards  him, 'And  there you are,  too, Dombey.
That's yours.'
     'Mine, Sir?' said Paul.
     'Your invitation,' returned Mr Feeder.
     Paul, looking at it, found,  in copper-plate print,  with the exception
of his  own name and the date, which  were in  Mr Feeder's penmanship,  that
Doctor and Mrs Blimber requested the pleasure  of Mr  P. Dombey's company at
an early party on Wednesday Evening the  Seventeenth  Instant;  and that the
hour  was half-past  seven o'clock;  and that the object was  Quadrilles. Mr
Toots also showed him, by holding up a companion sheet of paper, that Doctor
and Mrs  Blimber requested the pleasure of Mr  Toots's company  at an  early
party on  Wednesday Evening  the  Seventeenth  Instant,  when  the hour  was
half-past seven o'clock,  and when the object was Quadrilles. He also found,
on  glancing at the  table  where  Mr Feeder sat,  that the  pleasure  of Mr
Briggs's company, and of Mr Tozer's company,  and of every young gentleman's
company, was  requested  by Doctor  and  Mrs  Blimber  on  the same  genteel
Occasion.
     Mr Feeder then told him, to his great joy, that his sister was invited,
and that it  was a half-yearly event, and that, as the  holidays  began that
day, he  could go away with his sister  after the party, if  he liked, which
Paul interrupted him  to say he would like, very  much. Mr  Feeder then gave
him to  understand  that  he would  be  expected  to inform  Doctor and  Mrs
Blimber, in  superfine small-hand, that Mr  P. Dombey would be happy to have
the honour  of waiting on them, in  accordance with their polite invitation.
Lastly, Mr Feeder said, he had better not refer  to the festive occasion, in
the hearing of Doctor and Mrs Blimber; as these preliminaries, and the whole
of the arrangements, were conducted on  principles of  classicality and high
breeding; and that Doctor and Mrs  Blimber on the  one hand,  and  the young
gentlemen on the other, were supposed,  in their scholastic  capacities, not
to have the least idea of what was in the wind.
     Paul thanked Mr Feeder  for these hints, and  pocketing his invitation,
sat down on  a  stool by the  side  of Mr Toots,  as usual. But Paul's head,
which had long  been ailing more or less, and  was  sometimes very heavy and
painful, felt so uneasy that night, that he was obliged to support it on his
hand. And yet it dropped so, that by little and little it sunk on Mr Toots's
knee, and rested there, as if it had no care to be ever lifted up again.
     That  was no reason why  he  should be deaf; but he must have been,  he
thought, for, by and by, he heard  Mr Feeder calling in  his ear, and gently
shaking him to  rouse his  attention. And  when  he raised his  head,  quite
scared, and looked about him, he found that Doctor Blimber had come into the
room;  and that  the window  was open,  and  that his forehead  was wet with
sprinkled water; though how  all this had  been done without  his knowledge,
was very curious indeed.
     'Ah! Come, come! That's well! How is my little friend now?' said Doctor
Blimber, encouragingly.
     'Oh, quite well, thank you, Sir,' said Paul.
     But  there seemed  to  be something the matter with the floor,  for  he
couldn't stand  upon  it steadily;  and with the  walls too,  for they  were
inclined to turn round and round,  and could only be stopped by being looked
at  very hard indeed. Mr  Toots's head had the appearance of being  at  once
bigger and farther off than was quite natural; and when he took Paul  in his
arms, to carry  him  upstairs, Paul observed with astonishment that the door
was in quite a different  place from that in  which  he had expected to find
it, and almost thought, at first, that Mr Toots  was going to walk  straight
up the chimney.
     It was  very kind  of Mr Toots to carry  him to the top of the house so
tenderly;  and  Paul told him  that it was. But Mr Toots said he  would do a
great  deal more  than that, if he could;  and indeed he did more as it was:
for he helped Paul to undress,  and helped him to bed, in the kindest manner
possible, and then sat down by the bedside and chuckled very  much; while Mr
Feeder, B.A., leaning over the  bottom of  the bedstead,  set all the little
bristles on his head bolt upright with his bony hands, and then made believe
to spar at Paul with great science, on account of his being all right again,
which was so uncommonly facetious, and kind too in Mr Feeder, that Paul, not
being able  to make up his mind whether it was  best to laugh or cry at him,
did both at once.
     How Mr Toots melted away,  and Mr Feeder changed into Mrs Pipchin, Paul
never thought of asking; neither was he at all curious to know;  but when he
saw  Mrs Pipchin standing at the bottom of the bed, instead of Mr Feeder, he
cried out, 'Mrs Pipchin, don't tell Florence!'
     'Don't  tell Florence what,  my little Paul?' said Mrs Pipchin,  coming
round to the bedside, and sitting down in the chair.
     'About me,' said Paul.
     'No, no,' said Mrs Pipchin.
     'What do you think I mean to do when I  grow up, Mrs Pipchin?' inquired
Paul,  turning his  face  towards  her on his pillow,  and resting his  chin
wistfully on his folded hands.
     Mrs Pipchin couldn't guess.
     'I mean,' said Paul, 'to put my money all together  in one  Bank, never
try to get any more, go away into the country with my darling Florence, have
a beautiful garden, fields, and woods, and live there with her all my life!'
     'Indeed!' cried Mrs Pipchin.
     'Yes,' said Paul. 'That's what I mean to do, when I - ' He stopped, and
pondered for a moment.
     Mrs Pipchin's grey eye scanned his thoughtful face.
     'If I grow  up,' said Paul. Then  he went on  immediately  to  tell Mrs
Pipchin all about the party, about Florence's invitation, about the pride he
would  have in the  admiration that would be  felt for  her by all the boys,
about their being so kind to him and fond of him, about his being so fond of
them, and about his being so glad  of it. Then he told Mrs Pipchin about the
analysis,  and  about  his  being  certainly  old-fashioned,  and  took  Mrs
Pipchin's opinion on that point, and whether she  knew why  it was, and what
it meant. Mrs Pipchin denied the  fact altogether, as  the shortest  way  of
getting out of the  difficulty;  but  Paul was far from  satisfied with that
reply, and looked so searchingly at Mrs Pipchin for a truer answer, that she
was obliged to get up and look out of the window to avoid his eyes.
     There was a certain calm Apothecary, 'who attended at the establishment
when  any of the young gentlemen were ill, and somehow  he got into the room
and appeared at the bedside, with Mrs Blimber.  How  they came there, or how
long they  had been there, Paul didn't know; but when he saw them, he sat up
in  bed,  and  answered all the  Apothecary's questions at  full length, and
whispered to him  that Florence  was not to  know  anything about  it, if he
pleased, and that he had set his mind upon  her coming to the party. He  was
very  chatty with  the Apothecary, and  they parted excellent friends. Lying
down again with his eyes shut, he heard the Apothecary  say, out of the room
and quite a long way off - or he dreamed it - that there was a want of vital
power (what  was  that,  Paul wondered!) and great constitutional  weakness.
That as the little fellow had set his heart on parting with his school-mates
on the seventeenth,  it  would be be