Having this large stock of superfluous sentiment and morality on hand
which must positively be cleared off at any sacrifice, Mr Pecksniff no
sooner heard his son-in-law announced, than he regarded him as a kind
of wholesale or general order, to be immediately executed. Descending,
therefore, swiftly to the parlour, and clasping the young man in
his arms, he exclaimed, with looks and gestures that denoted the
perturbation of his spirit:
'Jonas. My child--she is well! There is nothing the matter?'
'What, you're at it again, are you?' replied his son-in-law. 'Even with
me? Get away with you, will you?'
'Tell me she is well then,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Tell me she is well my
boy!'
'She's well enough,' retorted Jonas, disengaging himself. 'There's
nothing the matter with HER.'
'There is nothing the matter with her!' cried Mr Pecksniff, sitting down
in the nearest chair, and rubbing up his hair. 'Fie upon my weakness!
I cannot help it, Jonas. Thank you. I am better now. How is my other
child; my eldest; my Cherrywerrychigo?' said Mr Pecksniff, inventing a
playful little name for her, in the restored lightness of his heart.
Pages:
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270