And postponing as he went along the congratulations of his
numerous friends until a more convenient season, he soon arrived at Mr
Pecksniff's house. At that gentleman's door; with a face so immovable
that it would have been next to an impossibility for the most acute
physiognomist to determine what he was thinking about, or whether he was
thinking at all; he straightway knocked.
A person of Mr Tapley's observation could not long remain insensible
to the fact that Mr Pecksniff was making the end of his nose very
blunt against the glass of the parlour window, in an angular attempt to
discover who had knocked at the door. Nor was Mr Tapley slow to baffle
this movement on the part of the enemy, by perching himself on the
top step, and presenting the crown of his hat in that direction. But
possibly Mr Pecksniff had already seen him, for Mark soon heard his
shoes creaking, as he advanced to open the door with his own hands.
Mr Pecksniff was as cheerful as ever, and sang a little song in the
passage.
'How d'ye do, sir?' said Mark.
'Oh!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Tapley, I believe? The Prodigal returned! We
don't want any beer, my friend.
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