'
'Be a man, Mr Chuffey,' said Pecksniff.
'Be a gentleman, Mr Chuffey,' said Mould.
'Upon my word, my good friend,' murmured the doctor, in a tone of
stately reproof, as he stepped up to the old man's side, 'this is worse
than weakness. This is bad, selfish, very wrong, Mr Chuffey. You should
take example from others, my good sir. You forget that you were not
connected by ties of blood with our deceased friend; and that he had a
very near and very dear relation, Mr Chuffey.'
'Aye, his own son!' cried the old man, clasping his hands with
remarkable passion. 'His own, own, only son!'
'He's not right in his head, you know,' said Jonas, turning pale.
'You're not to mind anything he says. I shouldn't wonder if he was
to talk some precious nonsense. But don't you mind him, any of you. I
don't. My father left him to my charge; and whatever he says or does,
that's enough. I'll take care of him.'
A hum of admiration rose from the mourners (including Mr Mould and his
merry men) at this new instance of magnanimity and kind feeling on the
part of Jonas. But Chuffey put it to the test no farther.
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