They'd be very fond of you, Tom.'
But not a word said Mr Pinch. The words he would have uttered died upon
his lips, and found a life more spiritual in self-denying thoughts.
'All the children hereabouts are fond of you, Tom, and mine would be,
of course,' pursued Martin. 'Perhaps I might name one of 'em after
you. Tom, eh? Well, I don't know. Tom's not a bad name. Thomas Pinch
Chuzzlewit. T. P. C. on his pinafores--no objection to that, I should
say?'
Tom cleared his throat, and smiled.
'SHE would like you, Tom, I know,' said Martin.
'Aye!' cried Tom Pinch, faintly.
'I can tell exactly what she would think of you,' said Martin leaning
his chin upon his hand, and looking through the window-glass as if he
read there what he said; 'I know her so well. She would smile, Tom,
often at first when you spoke to her, or when she looked at you--merrily
too--but you wouldn't mind that. A brighter smile you never saw.'
'No, no,' said Tom. 'I wouldn't mind that.'
'She would be as tender with you, Tom,' said Martin, 'as if you were a
child yourself. So you are almost, in some things, an't you, Tom?'
Mr Pinch nodded his entire assent.
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