'There!' said John, sitting down for the fiftieth time, and instantly
starting up again to make some other addition to the breakfast. 'Now we
are as well off as we are likely to be till dinner. And now let us have
the news, Tom. Imprimis, how's Pecksniff?'
'I don't know how he is,' was Tom's grave answer.
John Westlock put the teapot down, and looked at him, in astonishment.
'I don't know how he is,' said Thomas Pinch; 'and, saving that I wish
him no ill, I don't care. I have left him, John. I have left him for
ever.'
'Voluntarily?'
'Why, no, for he dismissed me. But I had first found out that I was
mistaken in him; and I could not have remained with him under any
circumstances. I grieve to say that you were right in your estimate of
his character. It may be a ridiculous weakness, John, but it has been
very painful and bitter to me to find this out, I do assure you.'
Tom had no need to direct that appealing look towards his friend, in
mild and gentle deprecation of his answering with a laugh. John Westlock
would as soon have thought of striking him down upon the floor.
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