Then they met his own, and were as the
eyes of Mr Pecksniff.
Suffering the lid of the desk to fall with a loud noise, but not
forgetting even then to lock it, Jonas, pale and breathless, gazed upon
this phantom. It moved, opened the door, and walked in.
'What's the matter?' cried Jonas, falling back. 'Who is it? Where do you
come from? What do you want?'
'Matter!' cried the voice of Mr Pecksniff, as Pecksniff in the flesh
smiled amiably upon him. 'The matter, Mr Jonas!'
'What are you prying and peering about here for?' said Jonas, angrily.
'What do you mean by coming up to town in this way, and taking one
unawares? It's precious odd a man can't read the--the newspaper--in his
own office without being startled out of his wits by people coming in
without notice. Why didn't you knock at the door?'
'So I did, Mr Jonas,' answered Pecksniff, 'but no one heard me. I was
curious,' he added in his gentle way as he laid his hand upon the young
man's shoulder, 'to find out what part of the newspaper interested you
so much; but the glass was too dim and dirty.'
Jonas glanced in haste at the partition.
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