Major Bagstock, after long and frequent observation of Paul, across
Princess's Place, through his double-barrelled opera-glass; and after
receiving many minute reports, daily, weekly, and monthly, on that
subject, from the native who kept himself in constant communication with
Miss Tox's maid for that purpose; came to the conclusion that Dombey,
Sir, was a man to be known, and that J. B. was the boy to make his
acquaintance.

Miss Tox, however, maintaining her reserved behaviour, and frigidly
declining to understand the Major whenever he called (which he often
did) on any little fishing excursion connected with this project, the
Major, in spite of his constitutional toughness and slyness, was fain
to leave the accomplishment of his desire in some measure to chance,
'which,' as he was used to observe with chuckles at his club, 'has been
fifty to one in favour of Joey B., Sir, ever since his elder brother
died of Yellow Jack in the West Indies.'

It was some time coming to his aid in the present instance, but it
befriended him at last. When the dark servant, with full particulars,
reported Miss Tox absent on Brighton service, the Major was suddenly
touched with affectionate reminiscences of his friend Bill Bitherstone
of Bengal, who had written to ask him, if he ever went that way, to
bestow a call upon his only son. But when the same dark servant reported
Paul at Mrs Pipchin's, and the Major, referring to the letter favoured
by Master Bitherstone on his arrival in England--to which he had
never had the least idea of paying any attention--saw the opening
that presented itself, he was made so rabid by the gout, with which
he happened to be then laid up, that he threw a footstool at the dark
servant in return for his intelligence, and swore he would be the death
of the rascal before he had done with him: which the dark servant was
more than half disposed to believe.

At length the Major being released from his fit, went one Saturday
growling down to Brighton, with the native behind him; apostrophizing
Miss Tox all the way, and gloating over the prospect of carrying by
storm the distinguished friend to whom she attached so much mystery, and
for whom she had deserted him.

'Would you, Ma'am, would you!' said the Major, straining with
vindictiveness, and swelling every already swollen vein in his head.
'Would you give Joey B. the go-by, Ma'am? Not yet, Ma'am, not yet!
Damme, not yet, Sir. Joe is awake, Ma'am. Bagstock is alive, Sir. J. B.
knows a move or two, Ma'am. Josh has his weather-eye open, Sir. You'll
find him tough, Ma'am. Tough, Sir, tough is Joseph. Tough, and de-vilish
sly!'

And very tough indeed Master Bitherstone found him, when he took that
young gentleman out for a walk. But the Major, with his complexion
like a Stilton cheese, and his eyes like a prawn's, went roving about,
perfectly indifferent to Master Bitherstone's amusement, and dragging
Master Bitherstone along, while he looked about him high and low, for Mr
Dombey and his children.

In good time the Major, previously instructed by Mrs Pipchin, spied
out Paul and Florence, and bore down upon them; there being a stately
gentleman (Mr Dombey, doubtless) in their company. Charging with Master
Bitherstone into the very heart of the little squadron, it fell out, of
course, that Master Bitherstone spoke to his fellow-sufferers. Upon that
the Major stopped to notice and admire them; remembered with amazement
that he had seen and spoken to them at his friend Miss Tox's in
Princess's Place; opined that Paul was a devilish fine fellow, and his
own little friend; inquired if he remembered Joey B. the Major; and
finally, with a sudden recollection of the conventionalities of life,
turned and apologised to Mr Dombey.

'But my little friend here, Sir,' said the Major, 'makes a boy of me
again: An old soldier, Sir--Major Bagstock, at your service--is not
ashamed to confess it.' Here the Major lifted his hat. 'Damme, Sir,'
cried the Major with sudden warmth, 'I envy you.' Then he recollected
himself, and added, 'Excuse my freedom.'

Mr Dombey begged he wouldn't mention it.

'An old campaigner, Sir,' said the Major, 'a smoke-dried, sun-burnt,
used-up, invalided old dog of a Major, Sir, was not afraid of being
condemned for his whim by a man like Mr Dombey. I have the honour of
addressing Mr Dombey, I believe?'

'I am the present unworthy representative of that name, Major,' returned
Mr Dombey.

'By G--, Sir!' said the Major, 'it's a great name. It's a name, Sir,'
said the Major firmly, as if he defied Mr Dombey to contradict him, and
would feel it his painful duty to bully him if he did, 'that is known
and honoured in the British possessions abroad. It is a name, Sir,
that a man is proud to recognise. There is nothing adulatory in Joseph
Bagstock, Sir. His Royal Highness the Duke of York observed on more than
one occasion, "there is no adulation in Joey. He is a plain old soldier
is Joe. He is tough to a fault is Joseph:" but it's a great name, Sir.
By the Lord, it's a great name!' said the Major, solemnly.

'You are good enough to rate it higher than it deserves, perhaps,
Major,' returned Mr Dombey.

'No, Sir,' said the Major, in a severe tone. No, Mr Dombey, let us
understand each other. That is not the Bagstock vein, Sir. You don't
know Joseph B. He is a blunt old blade is Josh. No flattery in him, Sir.
Nothing like it.'

Mr Dombey inclined his head, and said he believed him to be in earnest,
and that his high opinion was gratifying.

'My little friend here, Sir,' croaked the Major, looking as amiably
as he could, on Paul, 'will certify for Joseph Bagstock that he is a
thorough-going, down-right, plain-spoken, old Trump, Sir, and nothing
more. That boy, Sir,' said the Major in a lower tone, 'will live in
history. That boy, Sir, is not a common production. Take care of him, Mr
Dombey.'

Mr Dombey seemed to intimate that he would endeavour to do so.

'Here is a boy here, Sir,' pursued the Major, confidentially, and
giving him a thrust with his cane. 'Son of Bitherstone of Bengal. Bill
Bitherstone formerly of ours. That boy's father and myself, Sir, were
sworn friends. Wherever you went, Sir, you heard of nothing but Bill
Bitherstone and Joe Bagstock. Am I blind to that boy's defects? By no
means. He's a fool, Sir.'

Mr Dombey glanced at the libelled Master Bitherstone, of whom he knew at
least as much as the Major did, and said, in quite a complacent manner,
'Really?'

'That is what he is, sir,' said the Major. 'He's a fool. Joe Bagstock
never minces matters. The son of my old friend Bill Bitherstone, of
Bengal, is a born fool, Sir.' Here the Major laughed till he was almost
black. 'My little friend is destined for a public school, I presume,
Mr Dombey?' said the Major when he had recovered.

'I am not quite decided,' returned Mr Dombey. 'I think not. He is
delicate.'

'If he's delicate, Sir,' said the Major, 'you are right. None but the
tough fellows could live through it, Sir, at Sandhurst. We put each
other to the torture there, Sir. We roasted the new fellows at a slow
fire, and hung 'em out of a three pair of stairs window, with their
heads downwards. Joseph Bagstock, Sir, was held out of the window by the
heels of his boots, for thirteen minutes by the college clock.'

The Major might have appealed to his countenance in corroboration of
this story. It certainly looked as if he had hung out a little too long.

'But it made us what we were, Sir,' said the Major, settling his shirt
frill. 'We were iron, Sir, and it forged us. Are you remaining here, Mr
Dombey?'

'I generally come down once a week, Major,' returned that gentleman. 'I
stay at the Bedford.'

'I shall have the honour of calling at the Bedford, Sir, if you'll
permit me,' said the Major. 'Joey B., Sir, is not in general a calling
man, but Mr Dombey's is not a common name. I am much indebted to my
little friend, Sir, for the honour of this introduction.'

Mr Dombey made a very gracious reply; and Major Bagstock, having patted
Paul on the head, and said of Florence that her eyes would play the
Devil with the youngsters before long--'and the oldsters too, Sir, if
you come to that,' added the Major, chuckling very much--stirred up
Master Bitherstone with his walking-stick, and departed with that young
gentleman, at a kind of half-trot; rolling his head and coughing with
great dignity, as he staggered away, with his legs very wide asunder.

In fulfilment of his promise, the Major afterwards called on Mr Dombey;
and Mr Dombey, having referred to the army list, afterwards called on
the Major. Then the Major called at Mr Dombey's house in town; and came
down again, in the same coach as Mr Dombey. In short, Mr Dombey and
the Major got on uncommonly well together, and uncommonly fast: and Mr
Dombey observed of the Major, to his sister, that besides being quite
a military man he was really something more, as he had a very admirable
idea of the importance of things unconnected with his own profession.

At length Mr Dombey, bringing down Miss Tox and Mrs Chick to see the
children, and finding the Major again at Brighton, invited him to dinner
at the Bedford, and complimented Miss Tox highly, beforehand, on her
neighbour and acquaintance.

'My dearest Louisa,' said Miss Tox to Mrs Chick, when they were alone
together, on the morning of the appointed day, 'if I should seem at all
reserved to Major Bagstock, or under any constraint with him, promise me
not to notice it.'

'My dear Lucretia,' returned Mrs Chick, 'what mystery is involved in
this remarkable request? I must insist upon knowing.'

'Since you are resolved to extort a confession from me, Louisa,' said
Miss Tox instantly, 'I have no alternative but to confide to you that
the Major has been particular.'

'Particular!' repeated Mrs Chick.

'The Major has long been very particular indeed, my love, in his
attentions,' said Miss Tox, 'occasionally they have been so very marked,
that my position has been one of no common difficulty.'

'Is he in good circumstances?' inquired Mrs Chick.

'I have every reason to believe, my dear--indeed I may say I know,'
returned Miss Tox, 'that he is wealthy. He is truly military, and full
of anecdote. I have been informed that his valour, when he was in active
service, knew no bounds. I am told that he did all sorts of things in
the Peninsula, with every description of fire-arm; and in the East and
West Indies, my love, I really couldn't undertake to say what he did not
do.'

'Very creditable to him indeed,' said Mrs Chick, 'extremely so; and you
have given him no encouragement, my dear?'

'If I were to say, Louisa,' replied Miss Tox, with every demonstration
of making an effort that rent her soul, 'that I never encouraged Major
Bagstock slightly, I should not do justice to the friendship which
exists between you and me. It is, perhaps, hardly in the nature of
woman to receive such attentions as the Major once lavished upon myself
without betraying some sense of obligation. But that is past--long past.
Between the Major and me there is now a yawning chasm, and I will not
feign to give encouragement, Louisa, where I cannot give my heart. My
affections,' said Miss Tox--'but, Louisa, this is madness!' and departed
from the room.

All this Mrs Chick communicated to her brother before dinner: and it
by no means indisposed Mr Dombey to receive the Major with unwonted
cordiality. The Major, for his part, was in a state of plethoric
satisfaction that knew no bounds: and he coughed, and choked, and
chuckled, and gasped, and swelled, until the waiters seemed positively
afraid of him.

'Your family monopolises Joe's light, Sir,' said the Major, when he had
saluted Miss Tox. 'Joe lives in darkness. Princess's Place is changed
into Kamschatka in the winter time. There is no ray of sun, Sir, for
Joey B., now.'

'Miss Tox is good enough to take a great deal of interest in Paul,
Major,' returned Mr Dombey on behalf of that blushing virgin.

'Damme Sir,' said the Major, 'I'm jealous of my little friend. I'm
pining away Sir. The Bagstock breed is degenerating in the forsaken
person of old Joe.' And the Major, becoming bluer and bluer and puffing
his cheeks further and further over the stiff ridge of his tight cravat,
stared at Miss Tox, until his eyes seemed as if he were at that moment
being overdone before the slow fire at the military college.

Notwithstanding the palpitation of the heart which these allusions
occasioned her, they were anything but disagreeable to Miss Tox, as they
enabled her to be extremely interesting, and to manifest an occasional
incoherence and distraction which she was not at all unwilling to
display. The Major gave her abundant opportunities of exhibiting this
emotion: being profuse in his complaints, at dinner, of her desertion of
him and Princess's Place: and as he appeared to derive great enjoyment
from making them, they all got on very well.

None the worse on account of the Major taking charge of the whole
conversation, and showing as great an appetite in that respect as in
regard of the various dainties on the table, among which he may
be almost said to have wallowed: greatly to the aggravation of his
inflammatory tendencies. Mr Dombey's habitual silence and reserve
yielding readily to this usurpation, the Major felt that he was coming
out and shining: and in the flow of spirits thus engendered, rang
such an infinite number of new changes on his own name that he quite
astonished himself. In a word, they were all very well pleased. The
Major was considered to possess an inexhaustible fund of conversation;
and when he took a late farewell, after a long rubber, Mr Dombey again
complimented the blushing Miss Tox on her neighbour and acquaintance.

But all the way home to his own hotel, the Major incessantly said to
himself, and of himself, 'Sly, Sir--sly, Sir--de-vil-ish sly!' And
when he got there, sat down in a chair, and fell into a silent fit
of laughter, with which he was sometimes seized, and which was always
particularly awful. It held him so long on this occasion that the dark
servant, who stood watching him at a distance, but dared not for his
life approach, twice or thrice gave him over for lost. His whole form,
but especially his face and head, dilated beyond all former experience;
and presented to the dark man's view, nothing but a heaving mass of
indigo. At length he burst into a violent paroxysm of coughing, and when
that was a little better burst into such ejaculations as the following:

'Would you, Ma'am, would you? Mrs Dombey, eh, Ma'am? I think not, Ma'am.
Not while Joe B. can put a spoke in your wheel, Ma'am. J. B.'s even
with you now, Ma'am. He isn't altogether bowled out, yet, Sir, isn't
Bagstock. She's deep, Sir, deep, but Josh is deeper. Wide awake is old
Joe--broad awake, and staring, Sir!' There was no doubt of this last
assertion being true, and to a very fearful extent; as it continued to
be during the greater part of that night, which the Major chiefly passed
in similar exclamations, diversified with fits of coughing and choking
that startled the whole house.

It was on the day after this occasion (being Sunday) when, as Mr Dombey,
Mrs Chick, and Miss Tox were sitting at breakfast, still eulogising the
Major, Florence came running in: her face suffused with a bright colour,
and her eyes sparkling joyfully: and cried,

'Papa! Papa! Here's Walter! and he won't come in.'

'Who?' cried Mr Dombey. 'What does she mean? What is this?'

'Walter, Papa!' said Florence timidly; sensible of having approached the
presence with too much familiarity. 'Who found me when I was lost.'

'Does she mean young Gay, Louisa?' inquired Mr Dombey, knitting his
brows. 'Really, this child's manners have become very boisterous. She
cannot mean young Gay, I think. See what it is, will you?'

Mrs Chick hurried into the passage, and returned with the information
that it was young Gay, accompanied by a very strange-looking person; and
that young Gay said he would not take the liberty of coming in, hearing
Mr Dombey was at breakfast, but would wait until Mr Dombey should
signify that he might approach.

'Tell the boy to come in now,' said Mr Dombey. 'Now, Gay, what is the
matter? Who sent you down here? Was there nobody else to come?'

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' returned Walter. 'I have not been sent. I have
been so bold as to come on my own account, which I hope you'll pardon
when I mention the cause.

But Mr Dombey, without attending to what he said, was looking
impatiently on either side of him (as if he were a pillar in his way) at
some object behind.

'What's that?' said Mr Dombey. 'Who is that? I think you have made some
mistake in the door, Sir.'

'Oh, I'm very sorry to intrude with anyone, Sir,' cried Walter, hastily:
'but this is--this is Captain Cuttle, Sir.'

'Wal'r, my lad,' observed the Captain in a deep voice: 'stand by!'

At the same time the Captain, coming a little further in, brought out
his wide suit of blue, his conspicuous shirt-collar, and his knobby
nose in full relief, and stood bowing to Mr Dombey, and waving his hook
politely to the ladies, with the hard glazed hat in his one hand, and a
red equator round his head which it had newly imprinted there.

Mr Dombey regarded this phenomenon with amazement and indignation, and
seemed by his looks to appeal to Mrs Chick and Miss Tox against it.
Little Paul, who had come in after Florence, backed towards Miss Tox as
the Captain waved his hook, and stood on the defensive.

'Now, Gay,' said Mr Dombey. 'What have you got to say to me?'

Again the Captain observed, as a general opening of the conversation
that could not fail to propitiate all parties, 'Wal'r, standby!'

'I am afraid, Sir,' began Walter, trembling, and looking down at the
ground, 'that I take a very great liberty in coming--indeed, I am sure
I do. I should hardly have had the courage to ask to see you, Sir, even
after coming down, I am afraid, if I had not overtaken Miss Dombey,
and--'

'Well!' said Mr Dombey, following his eyes as he glanced at the
attentive Florence, and frowning unconsciously as she encouraged him
with a smile. 'Go on, if you please.'

'Ay, ay,' observed the Captain, considering it incumbent on him, as a
point of good breeding, to support Mr Dombey. 'Well said! Go on, Wal'r.'

Captain Cuttle ought to have been withered by the look which Mr Dombey
bestowed upon him in acknowledgment of his patronage. But quite innocent
of this, he closed one eye in reply, and gave Mr Dombey to understand,
by certain significant motions of his hook, that Walter was a little
bashful at first, and might be expected to come out shortly.

'It is entirely a private and personal matter, that has brought me here,
Sir,' continued Walter, faltering, 'and Captain Cuttle--'

'Here!' interposed the Captain, as an assurance that he was at hand, and
might be relied upon.

'Who is a very old friend of my poor Uncle's, and a most excellent man,
Sir,' pursued Walter, raising his eyes with a look of entreaty in the
Captain's behalf, 'was so good as to offer to come with me, which I
could hardly refuse.'

'No, no, no;' observed the Captain complacently. 'Of course not. No call
for refusing. Go on, Wal'r.'

'And therefore, Sir,' said Walter, venturing to meet Mr Dombey's eye,
and proceeding with better courage in the very desperation of the case,
now that there was no avoiding it, 'therefore I have come, with him,
Sir, to say that my poor old Uncle is in very great affliction and
distress. That, through the gradual loss of his business, and not being
able to make a payment, the apprehension of which has weighed very
heavily upon his mind, months and months, as indeed I know, Sir, he has
an execution in his house, and is in danger of losing all he has, and
breaking his heart. And that if you would, in your kindness, and in your
old knowledge of him as a respectable man, do anything to help him out
of his difficulty, Sir, we never could thank you enough for it.'

Walter's eyes filled with tears as he spoke; and so did those of
Florence. Her father saw them glistening, though he appeared to look at
Walter only.

'It is a very large sum, Sir,' said Walter. 'More than three hundred
pounds. My Uncle is quite beaten down by his misfortune, it lies so
heavy on him; and is quite unable to do anything for his own relief. He
doesn't even know yet, that I have come to speak to you. You would wish
me to say, Sir,' added Walter, after a moment's hesitation, 'exactly
what it is I want. I really don't know, Sir. There is my Uncle's stock,
on which I believe I may say, confidently, there are no other demands,
and there is Captain Cuttle, who would wish to be security too. I--I
hardly like to mention,' said Walter, 'such earnings as mine; but if
you would allow them--accumulate--payment--advance--Uncle--frugal,
honourable, old man.' Walter trailed off, through these broken
sentences, into silence: and stood with downcast head, before his
employer.

Considering this a favourable moment for the display of the valuables,
Captain Cuttle advanced to the table; and clearing a space among the
breakfast-cups at Mr Dombey's elbow, produced the silver watch, the
ready money, the teaspoons, and the sugar-tongs; and piling them up into
a heap that they might look as precious as possible, delivered himself
of these words:

'Half a loaf's better than no bread, and the same remark holds good with
crumbs. There's a few. Annuity of one hundred pound premium also ready
to be made over. If there is a man chock full of science in the world,
it's old Sol Gills. If there is a lad of promise--one flowing,' added
the Captain, in one of his happy quotations, 'with milk and honey--it's
his nevy!'

The Captain then withdrew to his former place, where he stood arranging
his scattered locks with the air of a man who had given the finishing
touch to a difficult performance.

When Walter ceased to speak, Mr Dombey's eyes were attracted to little
Paul, who, seeing his sister hanging down her head and silently weeping
in her commiseration for the distress she had heard described, went over
to her, and tried to comfort her: looking at Walter and his father as he
did so, with a very expressive face. After the momentary distraction of
Captain Cuttle's address, which he regarded with lofty indifference, Mr
Dombey again turned his eyes upon his son, and sat steadily regarding
the child, for some moments, in silence.

'What was this debt contracted for?' asked Mr Dombey, at length. 'Who is
the creditor?'

'He don't know,' replied the Captain, putting his hand on Walter's
shoulder. 'I do. It came of helping a man that's dead now, and that's
cost my friend Gills many a hundred pound already. More particulars in
private, if agreeable.'

'People who have enough to do to hold their own way,' said Mr Dombey,
unobservant of the Captain's mysterious signs behind Walter, and still
looking at his son, 'had better be content with their own obligations
and difficulties, and not increase them by engaging for other men. It
is an act of dishonesty and presumption, too,' said Mr Dombey, sternly;
'great presumption; for the wealthy could do no more. Paul, come here!'

The child obeyed: and Mr Dombey took him on his knee.

'If you had money now--' said Mr Dombey. 'Look at me!'

Paul, whose eyes had wandered to his sister, and to Walter, looked his
father in the face.

'If you had money now,' said Mr Dombey; 'as much money as young Gay has
talked about; what would you do?'

'Give it to his old Uncle,' returned Paul.

'Lend it to his old Uncle, eh?' retorted Mr Dombey. 'Well! When you
are old enough, you know, you will share my money, and we shall use it
together.'

'Dombey and Son,' interrupted Paul, who had been tutored early in the
phrase.

'Dombey and Son,' repeated his father. 'Would you like to begin to be
Dombey and Son, now, and lend this money to young Gay's Uncle?'

'Oh! if you please, Papa!' said Paul: 'and so would Florence.'

'Girls,' said Mr Dombey, 'have nothing to do with Dombey and Son. Would
you like it?'

'Yes, Papa, yes!'

'Then you shall do it,' returned his father. 'And you see, Paul,' he
added, dropping his voice, 'how powerful money is, and how anxious
people are to get it. Young Gay comes all this way to beg for money,
and you, who are so grand and great, having got it, are going to let him
have it, as a great favour and obligation.'

Paul turned up the old face for a moment, in which there was a sharp
understanding of the reference conveyed in these words: but it was a
young and childish face immediately afterwards, when he slipped down
from his father's knee, and ran to tell Florence not to cry any more,
for he was going to let young Gay have the money.

Mr Dombey then turned to a side-table, and wrote a note and sealed it.
During the interval, Paul and Florence whispered to Walter, and
Captain Cuttle beamed on the three, with such aspiring and ineffably
presumptuous thoughts as Mr Dombey never could have believed in. The
note being finished, Mr Dombey turned round to his former place, and
held it out to Walter.

'Give that,' he said, 'the first thing to-morrow morning, to Mr Carker.
He will immediately take care that one of my people releases your Uncle
from his present position, by paying the amount at issue; and that such
arrangements are made for its repayment as may be consistent with your
Uncle's circumstances. You will consider that this is done for you by
Master Paul.'

Walter, in the emotion of holding in his hand the means of releasing his
good Uncle from his trouble, would have endeavoured to express something
of his gratitude and joy. But Mr Dombey stopped him short.

'You will consider that it is done,' he repeated, 'by Master Paul. I
have explained that to him, and he understands it. I wish no more to be
said.'

As he motioned towards the door, Walter could only bow his head and
retire. Miss Tox, seeing that the Captain appeared about to do the same,
interposed.

'My dear Sir,' she said, addressing Mr Dombey, at whose munificence
both she and Mrs Chick were shedding tears copiously; 'I think you have
overlooked something. Pardon me, Mr Dombey, I think, in the nobility
of your character, and its exalted scope, you have omitted a matter of
detail.'

'Indeed, Miss Tox!' said Mr Dombey.

'The gentleman with the--Instrument,' pursued Miss Tox, glancing at
Captain Cuttle, 'has left upon the table, at your elbow--'

'Good Heaven!' said Mr Dombey, sweeping the Captain's property from
him, as if it were so much crumb indeed. 'Take these things away. I am
obliged to you, Miss Tox; it is like your usual discretion. Have the
goodness to take these things away, Sir!'

Captain Cuttle felt he had no alternative but to comply. But he was so
much struck by the magnanimity of Mr Dombey, in refusing treasures lying
heaped up to his hand, that when he had deposited the teaspoons and
sugar-tongs in one pocket, and the ready money in another, and had
lowered the great watch down slowly into its proper vault, he could not
refrain from seizing that gentleman's right hand in his own solitary
left, and while he held it open with his powerful fingers, bringing the
hook down upon its palm in a transport of admiration. At this touch of
warm feeling and cold iron, Mr Dombey shivered all over.

Captain Cuttle then kissed his hook to the ladies several times, with
great elegance and gallantry; and having taken a particular leave of
Paul and Florence, accompanied Walter out of the room. Florence was
running after them in the earnestness of her heart, to send some message
to old Sol, when Mr Dombey called her back, and bade her stay where she
was.

'Will you never be a Dombey, my dear child!' said Mrs Chick, with
pathetic reproachfulness.

'Dear aunt,' said Florence. 'Don't be angry with me. I am so thankful to
Papa!'

She would have run and thrown her arms about his neck if she had dared;
but as she did not dare, she glanced with thankful eyes towards him, as
he sat musing; sometimes bestowing an uneasy glance on her, but, for the
most part, watching Paul, who walked about the room with the new-blown
dignity of having let young Gay have the money.

And young Gay--Walter--what of him?

He was overjoyed to purge the old man's hearth from bailiffs and
brokers, and to hurry back to his Uncle with the good tidings. He was
overjoyed to have it all arranged and settled next day before noon;
and to sit down at evening in the little back parlour with old Sol and
Captain Cuttle; and to see the Instrument-maker already reviving, and
hopeful for the future, and feeling that the wooden Midshipman was his
own again. But without the least impeachment of his gratitude to Mr
Dombey, it must be confessed that Walter was humbled and cast down. It
is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough wind,
that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they
might have borne, if they had flourished; and now, when Walter found
himself cut off from that great Dombey height, by the depth of a new
and terrible tumble, and felt that all his old wild fancies had been
scattered to the winds in the fall, he began to suspect that they might
have led him on to harmless visions of aspiring to Florence in the
remote distance of time.

The Captain viewed the subject in quite a different light. He appeared
to entertain a belief that the interview at which he had assisted was so
very satisfactory and encouraging, as to be only a step or two removed
from a regular betrothal of Florence to Walter; and that the late
transaction had immensely forwarded, if not thoroughly established,
the Whittingtonian hopes. Stimulated by this conviction, and by the
improvement in the spirits of his old friend, and by his own consequent
gaiety, he even attempted, in favouring them with the ballad of 'Lovely
Peg' for the third time in one evening, to make an extemporaneous
substitution of the name 'Florence;' but finding this difficult, on
account of the word Peg invariably rhyming to leg (in which personal
beauty the original was described as having excelled all competitors),
he hit upon the happy thought of changing it to Fle-e-eg; which he
accordingly did, with an archness almost supernatural, and a voice quite
vociferous, notwithstanding that the time was close at hand when he must
seek the abode of the dreadful Mrs MacStinger.

That same evening the Major was diffuse at his club, on the subject of
his friend Dombey in the City. 'Damme, Sir,' said the Major, 'he's a
prince, is my friend Dombey in the City. I tell you what, Sir. If you
had a few more men among you like old Joe Bagstock and my friend Dombey
in the City, Sir, you'd do!'

Major Bagstock has decided to try to make the acquaintance of Mr. Dombey, since he wants to know more about the man Miss Tox has rejected him in favor of. Miss Tox rejects his efforts at an introduction, so Major Bagstock travels to Brighton on the pretext of visiting his friend Bitherstone's son. He arranges to run into Florence, Paul, and Mr. Dombey. Bagstock flatters Dombey's vanity, and the two strike up a friendship. Bagstock plans to use this position to put a stop to Miss Tox's hopes of marrying Dombey. Meanwhile, Walter and Captain Cuttle arrive in Brighton and Walter asks Mr. Dombey to consider loaning money to his uncle, promising to work very hard to pay it back. Mr. Dombey consults with Paul, who urges his father to lend the money. Mr. Dombey makes arrangements to transfer the money and Walter and Captain Cuttle return to London. They are relieved and grateful, although Walter feels that he has been humiliated by Mr. Dombey's highlighting Walter's lack of income


Mrs Pipchin's constitution was made of such hard metal, in spite of its
liability to the fleshly weaknesses of standing in need of repose after
chops, and of requiring to be coaxed to sleep by the soporific agency
of sweet-breads, that it utterly set at naught the predictions of Mrs
Wickam, and showed no symptoms of decline. Yet, as Paul's rapt interest
in the old lady continued unbated, Mrs Wickam would not budge an inch
from the position she had taken up. Fortifying and entrenching herself
on the strong ground of her Uncle's Betsey Jane, she advised Miss Berry,
as a friend, to prepare herself for the worst; and forewarned her that
her aunt might, at any time, be expected to go off suddenly, like a
powder-mill.

'I hope, Miss Berry,' Mrs Wickam would observe, 'that you'll come into
whatever little property there may be to leave. You deserve it, I am
sure, for yours is a trying life. Though there don't seem much worth
coming into--you'll excuse my being so open--in this dismal den.'

Poor Berry took it all in good part, and drudged and slaved away
as usual; perfectly convinced that Mrs Pipchin was one of the most
meritorious persons in the world, and making every day innumerable
sacrifices of herself upon the altar of that noble old woman. But all
these immolations of Berry were somehow carried to the credit of
Mrs Pipchin by Mrs Pipchin's friends and admirers; and were made to
harmonise with, and carry out, that melancholy fact of the deceased Mr
Pipchin having broken his heart in the Peruvian mines.

For example, there was an honest grocer and general dealer in the
retail line of business, between whom and Mrs Pipchin there was a small
memorandum book, with a greasy red cover, perpetually in question, and
concerning which divers secret councils and conferences were continually
being held between the parties to that register, on the mat in the
passage, and with closed doors in the parlour. Nor were there wanting
dark hints from Master Bitherstone (whose temper had been made
revengeful by the solar heats of India acting on his blood), of balances
unsettled, and of a failure, on one occasion within his memory, in the
supply of moist sugar at tea-time. This grocer being a bachelor and not
a man who looked upon the surface for beauty, had once made honourable
offers for the hand of Berry, which Mrs Pipchin had, with contumely and
scorn, rejected. Everybody said how laudable this was in Mrs Pipchin,
relict of a man who had died of the Peruvian mines; and what a staunch,
high, independent spirit the old lady had. But nobody said anything
about poor Berry, who cried for six weeks (being soundly rated by
her good aunt all the time), and lapsed into a state of hopeless
spinsterhood.

'Berry's very fond of you, ain't she?' Paul once asked Mrs Pipchin when
they were sitting by the fire with the cat.

'Yes,' said Mrs Pipchin.

'Why?' asked Paul.

'Why!' returned the disconcerted old lady. 'How can you ask such things,
Sir! why are you fond of your sister Florence?'

'Because she's very good,' said Paul. 'There's nobody like Florence.'

'Well!' retorted Mrs Pipchin, shortly, 'and there's nobody like me, I
suppose.'

'Ain't there really though?' asked Paul, leaning forward in his chair,
and looking at her very hard.

'No,' said the old lady.

'I am glad of that,' observed Paul, rubbing his hands thoughtfully.
'That's a very good thing.'

Mrs Pipchin didn't dare to ask him why, lest she should receive some
perfectly annihilating answer. But as a compensation to her wounded
feelings, she harassed Master Bitherstone to that extent until bed-time,
that he began that very night to make arrangements for an overland
return to India, by secreting from his supper a quarter of a round of
bread and a fragment of moist Dutch cheese, as the beginning of a stock
of provision to support him on the voyage.

Mrs Pipchin had kept watch and ward over little Paul and his sister for
nearly twelve months. They had been home twice, but only for a few days;
and had been constant in their weekly visits to Mr Dombey at the hotel.
By little and little Paul had grown stronger, and had become able to
dispense with his carriage; though he still looked thin and delicate;
and still remained the same old, quiet, dreamy child that he had been
when first consigned to Mrs Pipchin's care. One Saturday afternoon,
at dusk, great consternation was occasioned in the Castle by the
unlooked-for announcement of Mr Dombey as a visitor to Mrs Pipchin. The
population of the parlour was immediately swept upstairs as on the wings
of a whirlwind, and after much slamming of bedroom doors, and trampling
overhead, and some knocking about of Master Bitherstone by Mrs Pipchin,
as a relief to the perturbation of her spirits, the black bombazeen
garments of the worthy old lady darkened the audience-chamber where Mr
Dombey was contemplating the vacant arm-chair of his son and heir.

'Mrs Pipchin,' said Mr Dombey, 'How do you do?'

'Thank you, Sir,' said Mrs Pipchin, 'I am pretty well, considering.'

Mrs Pipchin always used that form of words. It meant, considering her
virtues, sacrifices, and so forth.

'I can't expect, Sir, to be very well,' said Mrs Pipchin, taking a chair
and fetching her breath; 'but such health as I have, I am grateful for.'

Mr Dombey inclined his head with the satisfied air of a patron, who felt
that this was the sort of thing for which he paid so much a quarter.
After a moment's silence he went on to say:

'Mrs Pipchin, I have taken the liberty of calling, to consult you in
reference to my son. I have had it in my mind to do so for some time
past; but have deferred it from time to time, in order that his health
might be thoroughly re-established. You have no misgivings on that
subject, Mrs Pipchin?'

'Brighton has proved very beneficial, Sir,' returned Mrs Pipchin. 'Very
beneficial, indeed.'

'I purpose,' said Mr Dombey, 'his remaining at Brighton.'

Mrs Pipchin rubbed her hands, and bent her grey eyes on the fire.

'But,' pursued Mr Dombey, stretching out his forefinger, 'but possibly
that he should now make a change, and lead a different kind of life
here. In short, Mrs Pipchin, that is the object of my visit. My son is
getting on, Mrs Pipchin. Really, he is getting on.'

There was something melancholy in the triumphant air with which Mr
Dombey said this. It showed how long Paul's childish life had been to
him, and how his hopes were set upon a later stage of his existence.
Pity may appear a strange word to connect with anyone so haughty and so
cold, and yet he seemed a worthy subject for it at that moment.

'Six years old!' said Mr Dombey, settling his neckcloth--perhaps to hide
an irrepressible smile that rather seemed to strike upon the surface
of his face and glance away, as finding no resting-place, than to play
there for an instant. 'Dear me, six will be changed to sixteen, before
we have time to look about us.'

'Ten years,' croaked the unsympathetic Pipchin, with a frosty glistening
of her hard grey eye, and a dreary shaking of her bent head, 'is a long
time.'

'It depends on circumstances, returned Mr Dombey; 'at all events, Mrs
Pipchin, my son is six years old, and there is no doubt, I fear, that in
his studies he is behind many children of his age--or his youth,' said
Mr Dombey, quickly answering what he mistrusted was a shrewd twinkle of
the frosty eye, 'his youth is a more appropriate expression. Now, Mrs
Pipchin, instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to be before
them; far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to mount upon.
There is nothing of chance or doubt in the course before my son. His way
in life was clear and prepared, and marked out before he existed. The
education of such a young gentleman must not be delayed. It must not be
left imperfect. It must be very steadily and seriously undertaken, Mrs
Pipchin.'

'Well, Sir,' said Mrs Pipchin, 'I can say nothing to the contrary.'

'I was quite sure, Mrs Pipchin,' returned Mr Dombey, approvingly, 'that
a person of your good sense could not, and would not.'

'There is a great deal of nonsense--and worse--talked about young people
not being pressed too hard at first, and being tempted on, and all the
rest of it, Sir,' said Mrs Pipchin, impatiently rubbing her hooked
nose. 'It never was thought of in my time, and it has no business to be
thought of now. My opinion is "keep 'em at it".'

'My good madam,' returned Mr Dombey, 'you have not acquired your
reputation undeservedly; and I beg you to believe, Mrs Pipchin, that
I am more than satisfied with your excellent system of management,
and shall have the greatest pleasure in commending it whenever my poor
commendation--' Mr Dombey's loftiness when he affected to disparage his
own importance, passed all bounds--'can be of any service. I have been
thinking of Doctor Blimber's, Mrs Pipchin.'

'My neighbour, Sir?' said Mrs Pipchin. 'I believe the Doctor's is an
excellent establishment. I've heard that it's very strictly conducted,
and there is nothing but learning going on from morning to night.'

'And it's very expensive,' added Mr Dombey.

'And it's very expensive, Sir,' returned Mrs Pipchin, catching at the
fact, as if in omitting that, she had omitted one of its leading merits.

'I have had some communication with the Doctor, Mrs Pipchin,' said Mr
Dombey, hitching his chair anxiously a little nearer to the fire, 'and
he does not consider Paul at all too young for his purpose. He mentioned
several instances of boys in Greek at about the same age. If I have any
little uneasiness in my own mind, Mrs Pipchin, on the subject of this
change, it is not on that head. My son not having known a mother has
gradually concentrated much--too much--of his childish affection on
his sister. Whether their separation--' Mr Dombey said no more, but sat
silent.

'Hoity-toity!' exclaimed Mrs Pipchin, shaking out her black bombazeen
skirts, and plucking up all the ogress within her. 'If she don't like
it, Mr Dombey, she must be taught to lump it.' The good lady apologised
immediately afterwards for using so common a figure of speech, but said
(and truly) that that was the way she reasoned with 'em.

Mr Dombey waited until Mrs Pipchin had done bridling and shaking her
head, and frowning down a legion of Bitherstones and Pankeys; and then
said quietly, but correctively, 'He, my good madam, he.'

Mrs Pipchin's system would have applied very much the same mode of cure
to any uneasiness on the part of Paul, too; but as the hard grey eye was
sharp enough to see that the recipe, however Mr Dombey might admit its
efficacy in the case of the daughter, was not a sovereign remedy for the
son, she argued the point; and contended that change, and new society,
and the different form of life he would lead at Doctor Blimber's, and
the studies he would have to master, would very soon prove sufficient
alienations. As this chimed in with Mr Dombey's own hope and belief,
it gave that gentleman a still higher opinion of Mrs Pipchin's
understanding; and as Mrs Pipchin, at the same time, bewailed the loss
of her dear little friend (which was not an overwhelming shock to her,
as she had long expected it, and had not looked, in the beginning, for
his remaining with her longer than three months), he formed an equally
good opinion of Mrs Pipchin's disinterestedness. It was plain that he
had given the subject anxious consideration, for he had formed a plan,
which he announced to the ogress, of sending Paul to the Doctor's as a
weekly boarder for the first half year, during which time Florence
would remain at the Castle, that she might receive her brother there, on
Saturdays. This would wean him by degrees, Mr Dombey said; possibly
with a recollection of his not having been weaned by degrees on a former
occasion.

Mr Dombey finished the interview by expressing his hope that Mrs Pipchin
would still remain in office as general superintendent and overseer of
his son, pending his studies at Brighton; and having kissed Paul, and
shaken hands with Florence, and beheld Master Bitherstone in his collar
of state, and made Miss Pankey cry by patting her on the head (in which
region she was uncommonly tender, on account of a habit Mrs Pipchin had
of sounding it with her knuckles, like a cask), he withdrew to his hotel
and dinner: resolved that Paul, now that he was getting so old and well,
should begin a vigorous course of education forthwith, to qualify him
for the position in which he was to shine; and that Doctor Blimber
should take him in hand immediately.

Whenever a young gentleman was taken in hand by Doctor Blimber, he
might consider himself sure of a pretty tight squeeze. The Doctor only
undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, but he had, always ready, a
supply of learning for a hundred, on the lowest estimate; and it was at
once the business and delight of his life to gorge the unhappy ten with
it.

In fact, Doctor Blimber's establishment was a great hot-house, in which
there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All the boys blew
before their time. Mental green-peas were produced at Christmas, and
intellectual asparagus all the year round. Mathematical gooseberries
(very sour ones too) were common at untimely seasons, and from mere
sprouts of bushes, under Doctor Blimber's cultivation. Every description
of Greek and Latin vegetable was got off the driest twigs of boys, under
the frostiest circumstances. Nature was of no consequence at all. No
matter what a young gentleman was intended to bear, Doctor Blimber made
him bear to pattern, somehow or other.

This was all very pleasant and ingenious, but the system of forcing was
attended with its usual disadvantages. There was not the right taste
about the premature productions, and they didn't keep well. Moreover,
one young gentleman, with a swollen nose and an excessively large head
(the oldest of the ten who had 'gone through' everything), suddenly left
off blowing one day, and remained in the establishment a mere stalk. And
people did say that the Doctor had rather overdone it with young Toots,
and that when he began to have whiskers he left off having brains.

There young Toots was, at any rate; possessed of the gruffest of voices
and the shrillest of minds; sticking ornamental pins into his shirt, and
keeping a ring in his waistcoat pocket to put on his little finger by
stealth, when the pupils went out walking; constantly falling in love by
sight with nurserymaids, who had no idea of his existence; and looking
at the gas-lighted world over the little iron bars in the left-hand
corner window of the front three pairs of stairs, after bed-time, like a
greatly overgrown cherub who had sat up aloft much too long.

The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings
at his knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly
polished; a deep voice; and a chin so very double, that it was a wonder
how he ever managed to shave into the creases. He had likewise a pair of
little eyes that were always half shut up, and a mouth that was always
half expanded into a grin, as if he had, that moment, posed a boy, and
were waiting to convict him from his own lips. Insomuch, that when the
Doctor put his right hand into the breast of his coat, and with his
other hand behind him, and a scarcely perceptible wag of his head, made
the commonest observation to a nervous stranger, it was like a sentiment
from the sphynx, and settled his business.

The Doctor's was a mighty fine house, fronting the sea. Not a joyful
style of house within, but quite the contrary. Sad-coloured curtains,
whose proportions were spare and lean, hid themselves despondently
behind the windows. The tables and chairs were put away in rows, like
figures in a sum; fires were so rarely lighted in the rooms of ceremony,
that they felt like wells, and a visitor represented the bucket; the
dining-room seemed the last place in the world where any eating or
drinking was likely to occur; there was no sound through all the house
but the ticking of a great clock in the hall, which made itself audible
in the very garrets; and sometimes a dull cooing of young gentlemen
at their lessons, like the murmurings of an assemblage of melancholy
pigeons.

Miss Blimber, too, although a slim and graceful maid, did no soft
violence to the gravity of the house. There was no light nonsense about
Miss Blimber. She kept her hair short and crisp, and wore spectacles.
She was dry and sandy with working in the graves of deceased languages.
None of your live languages for Miss Blimber. They must be dead--stone
dead--and then Miss Blimber dug them up like a Ghoul.

Mrs Blimber, her Mama, was not learned herself, but she pretended to
be, and that did quite as well. She said at evening parties, that if she
could have known Cicero, she thought she could have died contented. It
was the steady joy of her life to see the Doctor's young gentlemen go
out walking, unlike all other young gentlemen, in the largest possible
shirt-collars, and the stiffest possible cravats. It was so classical,
she said.

As to Mr Feeder, B.A., Doctor Blimber's assistant, he was a kind
of human barrel-organ, with a little list of tunes at which he was
continually working, over and over again, without any variation. He
might have been fitted up with a change of barrels, perhaps, in early
life, if his destiny had been favourable; but it had not been; and he
had only one, with which, in a monotonous round, it was his occupation
to bewilder the young ideas of Doctor Blimber's young gentlemen. The
young gentlemen were prematurely full of carking anxieties. They knew no
rest from the pursuit of stony-hearted verbs, savage noun-substantives,
inflexible syntactic passages, and ghosts of exercises that appeared
to them in their dreams. Under the forcing system, a young gentleman
usually took leave of his spirits in three weeks. He had all the cares
of the world on his head in three months. He conceived bitter sentiments
against his parents or guardians in four; he was an old misanthrope, in
five; envied Curtius that blessed refuge in the earth, in six; and at
the end of the first twelvemonth had arrived at the conclusion, from
which he never afterwards departed, that all the fancies of the poets,
and lessons of the sages, were a mere collection of words and grammar,
and had no other meaning in the world.

But he went on blow, blow, blowing, in the Doctor's hothouse, all the
time; and the Doctor's glory and reputation were great, when he took his
wintry growth home to his relations and friends.

Upon the Doctor's door-steps one day, Paul stood with a fluttering
heart, and with his small right hand in his father's. His other hand was
locked in that of Florence. How tight the tiny pressure of that one; and
how loose and cold the other!

Mrs Pipchin hovered behind the victim, with her sable plumage and her
hooked beak, like a bird of ill-omen. She was out of breath--for
Mr Dombey, full of great thoughts, had walked fast--and she croaked
hoarsely as she waited for the opening of the door.

'Now, Paul,' said Mr Dombey, exultingly. 'This is the way indeed to be
Dombey and Son, and have money. You are almost a man already.'

'Almost,' returned the child.

Even his childish agitation could not master the sly and quaint yet
touching look, with which he accompanied the reply.

It brought a vague expression of dissatisfaction into Mr Dombey's face;
but the door being opened, it was quickly gone.

'Doctor Blimber is at home, I believe?' said Mr Dombey.

The man said yes; and as they passed in, looked at Paul as if he were a
little mouse, and the house were a trap. He was a weak-eyed young man,
with the first faint streaks or early dawn of a grin on his countenance.
It was mere imbecility; but Mrs Pipchin took it into her head that it
was impudence, and made a snap at him directly.

'How dare you laugh behind the gentleman's back?' said Mrs Pipchin. 'And
what do you take me for?'

'I ain't a laughing at nobody, and I'm sure I don't take you for
nothing, Ma'am,' returned the young man, in consternation.

'A pack of idle dogs!' said Mrs Pipchin, 'only fit to be turnspits. Go
and tell your master that Mr Dombey's here, or it'll be worse for you!'

The weak-eyed young man went, very meekly, to discharge himself of this
commission; and soon came back to invite them to the Doctor's study.

'You're laughing again, Sir,' said Mrs Pipchin, when it came to her
turn, bringing up the rear, to pass him in the hall.

'I ain't,' returned the young man, grievously oppressed. 'I never see
such a thing as this!'

'What is the matter, Mrs Pipchin?' said Mr Dombey, looking round.
'Softly! Pray!'

Mrs Pipchin, in her deference, merely muttered at the young man as she
passed on, and said, 'Oh! he was a precious fellow'--leaving the young
man, who was all meekness and incapacity, affected even to tears by the
incident. But Mrs Pipchin had a way of falling foul of all meek people;
and her friends said who could wonder at it, after the Peruvian mines!

The Doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a globe at each
knee, books all round him, Homer over the door, and Minerva on the
mantel-shelf. 'And how do you do, Sir?' he said to Mr Dombey, 'and how
is my little friend?' Grave as an organ was the Doctor's speech; and
when he ceased, the great clock in the hall seemed (to Paul at least) to
take him up, and to go on saying, 'how, is, my, lit, tle, friend? how,
is, my, lit, tle, friend?' over and over and over again.

The little friend being something too small to be seen at all from where
the Doctor sat, over the books on his table, the Doctor made several
futile attempts to get a view of him round the legs; which Mr Dombey
perceiving, relieved the Doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul up
in his arms, and sitting him on another little table, over against the
Doctor, in the middle of the room.

'Ha!' said the Doctor, leaning back in his chair with his hand in his
breast. 'Now I see my little friend. How do you do, my little friend?'

The clock in the hall wouldn't subscribe to this alteration in the form
of words, but continued to repeat how, is, my, lit, tle, friend? how,
is, my, lit, tle, friend?'

'Very well, I thank you, Sir,' returned Paul, answering the clock quite
as much as the Doctor.

'Ha!' said Doctor Blimber. 'Shall we make a man of him?'

'Do you hear, Paul?' added Mr Dombey; Paul being silent.

'Shall we make a man of him?' repeated the Doctor.

'I had rather be a child,' replied Paul.

'Indeed!' said the Doctor. 'Why?'

The child sat on the table looking at him, with a curious expression of
suppressed emotion in his face, and beating one hand proudly on his
knee as if he had the rising tears beneath it, and crushed them. But
his other hand strayed a little way the while, a little farther--farther
from him yet--until it lighted on the neck of Florence. 'This is why,'
it seemed to say, and then the steady look was broken up and gone; the
working lip was loosened; and the tears came streaming forth.

'Mrs Pipchin,' said his father, in a querulous manner, 'I am really very
sorry to see this.'

'Come away from him, do, Miss Dombey,' quoth the matron.

'Never mind,' said the Doctor, blandly nodding his head, to keep
Mrs Pipchin back. 'Never mind; we shall substitute new cares and new
impressions, Mr Dombey, very shortly. You would still wish my little
friend to acquire--'

'Everything, if you please, Doctor,' returned Mr Dombey, firmly.

'Yes,' said the Doctor, who, with his half-shut eyes, and his usual
smile, seemed to survey Paul with the sort of interest that might attach
to some choice little animal he was going to stuff. 'Yes, exactly. Ha!
We shall impart a great variety of information to our little friend, and
bring him quickly forward, I daresay. I daresay. Quite a virgin soil, I
believe you said, Mr Dombey?'

'Except some ordinary preparation at home, and from this lady,' replied
Mr Dombey, introducing Mrs Pipchin, who instantly communicated a
rigidity to her whole muscular system, and snorted defiance beforehand,
in case the Doctor should disparage her; 'except so far, Paul has, as
yet, applied himself to no studies at all.'

Doctor Blimber inclined his head, in gentle tolerance of such
insignificant poaching as Mrs Pipchin's, and said he was glad to hear
it. It was much more satisfactory, he observed, rubbing his hands, to
begin at the foundation. And again he leered at Paul, as if he would
have liked to tackle him with the Greek alphabet, on the spot.

'That circumstance, indeed, Doctor Blimber,' pursued Mr Dombey, glancing
at his little son, 'and the interview I have already had the pleasure of
holding with you, renders any further explanation, and consequently, any
further intrusion on your valuable time, so unnecessary, that--'

'Now, Miss Dombey!' said the acid Pipchin.

'Permit me,' said the Doctor, 'one moment. Allow me to present Mrs
Blimber and my daughter; who will be associated with the domestic life
of our young Pilgrim to Parnassus Mrs Blimber,' for the lady, who had
perhaps been in waiting, opportunely entered, followed by her daughter,
that fair Sexton in spectacles, 'Mr Dombey. My daughter Cornelia, Mr
Dombey. Mr Dombey, my love,' pursued the Doctor, turning to his wife,
'is so confiding as to--do you see our little friend?'

Mrs Blimber, in an excess of politeness, of which Mr Dombey was the
object, apparently did not, for she was backing against the little
friend, and very much endangering his position on the table. But,
on this hint, she turned to admire his classical and intellectual
lineaments, and turning again to Mr Dombey, said, with a sigh, that she
envied his dear son.

'Like a bee, Sir,' said Mrs Blimber, with uplifted eyes, 'about to
plunge into a garden of the choicest flowers, and sip the sweets for the
first time Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Terence, Plautus, Cicero. What a world
of honey have we here. It may appear remarkable, Mr Dombey, in one who
is a wife--the wife of such a husband--'

'Hush, hush,' said Doctor Blimber. 'Fie for shame.'

'Mr Dombey will forgive the partiality of a wife,' said Mrs Blimber,
with an engaging smile.

Mr Dombey answered 'Not at all:' applying those words, it is to be
presumed, to the partiality, and not to the forgiveness.

'And it may seem remarkable in one who is a mother also,' resumed Mrs
Blimber.

'And such a mother,' observed Mr Dombey, bowing with some confused idea
of being complimentary to Cornelia.

'But really,' pursued Mrs Blimber, 'I think if I could have known
Cicero, and been his friend, and talked with him in his retirement at
Tusculum (beau-ti-ful Tusculum!), I could have died contented.'

A learned enthusiasm is so very contagious, that Mr Dombey half believed
this was exactly his case; and even Mrs Pipchin, who was not, as we have
seen, of an accommodating disposition generally, gave utterance to a
little sound between a groan and a sigh, as if she would have said that
nobody but Cicero could have proved a lasting consolation under that
failure of the Peruvian Mines, but that he indeed would have been a very
Davy-lamp of refuge.

Cornelia looked at Mr Dombey through her spectacles, as if she would
have liked to crack a few quotations with him from the authority in
question. But this design, if she entertained it, was frustrated by a
knock at the room-door.

'Who is that?' said the Doctor. 'Oh! Come in, Toots; come in. Mr Dombey,
Sir.' Toots bowed. 'Quite a coincidence!' said Doctor Blimber. 'Here
we have the beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega. Our head boy, Mr
Dombey.'

The Doctor might have called him their head and shoulders boy, for he
was at least that much taller than any of the rest. He blushed very much
at finding himself among strangers, and chuckled aloud.

'An addition to our little Portico, Toots,' said the Doctor; 'Mr
Dombey's son.'

Young Toots blushed again; and finding, from a solemn silence which
prevailed, that he was expected to say something, said to Paul, 'How are
you?' in a voice so deep, and a manner so sheepish, that if a lamb had
roared it couldn't have been more surprising.

'Ask Mr Feeder, if you please, Toots,' said the Doctor, 'to prepare
a few introductory volumes for Mr Dombey's son, and to allot him a
convenient seat for study. My dear, I believe Mr Dombey has not seen the
dormitories.'

'If Mr Dombey will walk upstairs,' said Mrs Blimber, 'I shall be more
than proud to show him the dominions of the drowsy god.'

With that, Mrs Blimber, who was a lady of great suavity, and a wiry
figure, and who wore a cap composed of sky-blue materials, proceeded
upstairs with Mr Dombey and Cornelia; Mrs Pipchin following, and looking
out sharp for her enemy the footman.

While they were gone, Paul sat upon the table, holding Florence by the
hand, and glancing timidly from the Doctor round and round the room,
while the Doctor, leaning back in his chair, with his hand in his breast
as usual, held a book from him at arm's length, and read. There
was something very awful in this manner of reading. It was such a
determined, unimpassioned, inflexible, cold-blooded way of going to
work. It left the Doctor's countenance exposed to view; and when the
Doctor smiled suspiciously at his author, or knit his brows, or shook
his head and made wry faces at him, as much as to say, 'Don't tell me,
Sir; I know better,' it was terrific.

Toots, too, had no business to be outside the door, ostentatiously
examining the wheels in his watch, and counting his half-crowns. But
that didn't last long; for Doctor Blimber, happening to change the
position of his tight plump legs, as if he were going to get up, Toots
swiftly vanished, and appeared no more.

Mr Dombey and his conductress were soon heard coming downstairs again,
talking all the way; and presently they re-entered the Doctor's study.

'I hope, Mr Dombey,' said the Doctor, laying down his book, 'that the
arrangements meet your approval.'

'They are excellent, Sir,' said Mr Dombey.

'Very fair, indeed,' said Mrs Pipchin, in a low voice; never disposed to
give too much encouragement.

'Mrs Pipchin,' said Mr Dombey, wheeling round, 'will, with your
permission, Doctor and Mrs Blimber, visit Paul now and then.'

'Whenever Mrs Pipchin pleases,' observed the Doctor.

'Always happy to see her,' said Mrs Blimber.

'I think,' said Mr Dombey, 'I have given all the trouble I need, and may
take my leave. Paul, my child,' he went close to him, as he sat upon the
table. 'Good-bye.'

'Good-bye, Papa.'

The limp and careless little hand that Mr Dombey took in his, was
singularly out of keeping with the wistful face. But he had no part
in its sorrowful expression. It was not addressed to him. No, no. To
Florence--all to Florence.

If Mr Dombey in his insolence of wealth, had ever made an enemy, hard
to appease and cruelly vindictive in his hate, even such an enemy might
have received the pang that wrung his proud heart then, as compensation
for his injury.

He bent down, over his boy, and kissed him. If his sight were dimmed as
he did so, by something that for a moment blurred the little face, and
made it indistinct to him, his mental vision may have been, for that
short time, the clearer perhaps.

'I shall see you soon, Paul. You are free on Saturdays and Sundays, you
know.'

'Yes, Papa,' returned Paul: looking at his sister. 'On Saturdays and
Sundays.'

'And you'll try and learn a great deal here, and be a clever man,' said
Mr Dombey; 'won't you?'

'I'll try,' returned the child, wearily.

'And you'll soon be grown up now!' said Mr Dombey.

'Oh! very soon!' replied the child. Once more the old, old look passed
rapidly across his features like a strange light. It fell on Mrs
Pipchin, and extinguished itself in her black dress. That excellent
ogress stepped forward to take leave and to bear off Florence, which she
had long been thirsting to do. The move on her part roused Mr Dombey,
whose eyes were fixed on Paul. After patting him on the head, and
pressing his small hand again, he took leave of Doctor Blimber, Mrs
Blimber, and Miss Blimber, with his usual polite frigidity, and walked
out of the study.

Despite his entreaty that they would not think of stirring, Doctor
Blimber, Mrs Blimber, and Miss Blimber all pressed forward to attend him
to the hall; and thus Mrs Pipchin got into a state of entanglement with
Miss Blimber and the Doctor, and was crowded out of the study before
she could clutch Florence. To which happy accident Paul stood afterwards
indebted for the dear remembrance, that Florence ran back to throw her
arms round his neck, and that hers was the last face in the doorway:
turned towards him with a smile of encouragement, the brighter for the
tears through which it beamed.

It made his childish bosom heave and swell when it was gone; and sent
the globes, the books, blind Homer and Minerva, swimming round the room.
But they stopped, all of a sudden; and then he heard the loud clock in
the hall still gravely inquiring 'how, is, my, lit, tle, friend? how,
is, my, lit, tle, friend?' as it had done before.

He sat, with folded hands, upon his pedestal, silently listening. But
he might have answered 'weary, weary! very lonely, very sad!' And there,
with an aching void in his young heart, and all outside so cold, and
bare, and strange, Paul sat as if he had taken life unfurnished, and the
upholsterer were never coming.

Mr. Dombey visits Mrs. Pipchin to tell her that, now that Paul is 6, it is time he began to attend school, and that he plans to send him to Doctor Blimber's school in Brighton. Paul is distressed to be parted from Florence, which makes Mr. Dombey hurt and jealous

This section of the novel explores the complex and often ambivalent feelings that those around Dombey have for him. While Dombey is often an unsympathetic character, readers may be struck by the fact that he has relatively few people in his life whom he can trust, and who sincerely respect him. While Dombey responds well to Bagstock's flattery, he is innocently unaware that Bagstock set out with ulterior motives. Dombey's inability to distinguish sincere affection, such as that shown by Florence or Miss Tox, from the flattery and manipulation of characters like Mrs. Chick and Bagstock, will prove to be part of his downfall. At the same time, however, this section also reveals Dombey as a greedy and calculating man, and someone whose consciousness of rank and social position blinds him to the true value of individuals. He should be deeply grateful to Walter for having protected his daughter, and yet he sees in him instead an uncomfortable reminder of a world he did not want his children to encounter. As a result, and also in an ill-advised attempt to shape Paul's character, Dombey insists on humiliating Walter by making him painfully aware of the divide between himself and the Dombey family. Dombey makes a number of attempts to pass values along to his son in this section. In addition to trying to evoke the vast importance of money to him by explaining that money can do anything, he also puts the decision about whether to lend money to Walter in Paul's hands. In both cases, Paul, who represents a somewhat idealized child character in his precocious wisdom and innate goodness, shows greater understanding and compassion than his adult father does. The novel repeatedly suggests that characters who are either young, or somewhat simplistic and innocence in their views of the world, such as Toots and Cuttle, have the ability to show genuine goodness, while more crafty characters such as Bagstock and Carker end up using their intelligence to self-serving ends. As an extension of the contrast between the perspectives of children and adults, this section shows a number of institutions, such as Mrs. Pipchin's home and the Blimber school that claim to support the welfare of children, but fail at actually doing so. Dickens had several traumatic experiences with educational institutions in his youth and is often bitingly critical of Victorian systems of education and training. While in contrast to the Pipchin boarding house, the Blimber School does foster a sense of community and is ultimately animated by good intentions, it does not promote any active critical or intellectual engagement. Nor, in a rapidly changing world, does there seem to be much concern with giving the boys useful skills and knowledge; rather, just as the focus is on "dead languages," the curriculum is outdated and therefore even less meaningful to the pupils.