'And this,' said John, 'is Mr Chuzzlewit. I am very glad to see
him!'--John had an off-hand manner of his own; so they shook hands
warmly, and were friends in no time.
'Stand off a moment, Tom,' cried the old pupil, laying one hand on each
of Mr Pinch's shoulders, and holding him out at arm's length. 'Let me
look at you! Just the same! Not a bit changed!'
'Why, it's not so very long ago, you know,' said Tom Pinch, 'after all.'
'It seems an age to me,' cried John, 'and so it ought to seem to you,
you dog.' And then he pushed Tom down into the easiest chair, and
clapped him on the back so heartily, and so like his old self in their
old bedroom at old Pecksniff's that it was a toss-up with Tom Pinch
whether he should laugh or cry. Laughter won it; and they all three
laughed together.
'I have ordered everything for dinner, that we used to say we'd have,
Tom,' observed John Westlock.
'No!' said Tom Pinch. 'Have you?'
'Everything. Don't laugh, if you can help it, before the waiters. I
couldn't when I was ordering it. It's like a dream.'
John was wrong there, because nobody ever dreamed such soup as was put
upon the table directly afterwards; or such fish; or such side-dishes;
or such a top and bottom; or such a course of birds and sweets; or
in short anything approaching the reality of that entertainment at
ten-and-sixpence a head, exclusive of wines.
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