but Mr. Carker pushing him on before, he had nothing for it but to open the right door, and suffer himself to be walked into the midst of his brothers and sisters, mustered in overwhelming force round the family tea-table. At sight of the prodigal in the grasp of a stranger, these tender relations united in a general howl, which smote upon the prodigal’s breast so sharply when he saw his mother stand up among them, pale and trembling, with the baby in her arms, that he lent his own voice to the chorus.
Nothing doubting now that the stranger, if not Mr. Ketch in person, was one of that company, the whole of the young family wailed the louder, while its more infantine members, unable to control the transports of emotion appertaining to their time of life, threw themselves on their backs like young birds when terrified by a hawk, and kicked violently. At length, poor Polly making herself audible, said, with quivering lips, "Oh Rob, my poor boy, what have you done at last!"
"Nothing mother," cried Rob, in a piteous voice, "ask the gentleman!"
"Don’t be alarmed," said Mr. Carker, "I want to do him good."
At this announcement, Polly, who had not cried yet, began to do so. The elder Toodles, who appeared to have been meditating a rescue, unclenched their fists. The younger Toodles clustered round their mother’s gown, and peeped from under their own chubby arms at their desperado brother and his unknown friend. Everybody blessed the gentleman with the beautiful teeth, who wanted to do good.
"This fellow," said Mr. Carker to Polly, giving him a gentle shake, "is your son, eh, Ma’am?"
"Yes Sir," sobbed Polly, with a curtsey; "yes Sir."
"A bad son, I am afraid?" said Mr. Carker.
"Never a bad son to me Sir," returned Polly.
"To whom then?" demanded Mr. Carker.
"He has been a little wild Sir," returned Polly, checking the baby, who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to launch himself on Biler, through the ambient air, "and has gone with wrong companions: but I hope he has seen the misery of that Sir, and will do well again."
Mr. Carker looked at Polly, and the clean room, and the clean children, and the simple Toodle face, combined of father and mother, that was reflected and repeated everywhere about him—and seemed to have achieved the real purpose of his visit.
"Your husband, I take it, is not at home?" he said.
"No Sir," replied Polly. "He’s down the line at present."
The prodigal Rob seemed very much relieved to hear it: though still in the absorption of all his faculties in his patron, he hardly took his eyes from Mr. Carker’s face, unless for a moment at a time to steal a sorrowful glance at his mother.
"Then," said Mr. Carker, "I ’ll tell you how I have stumbled on this boy of yours, and who I am, and what I am going to do for him."
This Mr. Carker did, in his own way; saying that he at first intended to have accumulated nameless terrors on his presumptuous head, for coming to the whereabout of Dombey and Son. That he had relented, in consideration of his youth, his professed contrition, and his friends. That he was afraid he took a rash step in doing anything for the boy, and one that might expose him to the censure of the prudent; but that he did it of himself and for himself, and risked the consequences single-handed; and
