"Major," says Mr. Dombey, "how are You?"
"By Jove, Sir," says the Major, "Joey B. is in such case this morning, Sir,"—and here he hits himself hard upon the breast—"In such case this morning, Sir, that, damme, Dombey, he has half a mind to make a double marriage of it, Sir, and take the mother."
Mr. Dombey smiles; but faintly, even for him; for Mr. Dombey feels that he is going to be related to the mother, and that, under those circumstances, she is not to be joked about.
"Dombey," says the Major, seeing this, "I give you joy. I congratulate you, Dombey. By the Lord, Sir,’ says the Major, "you are more to be envied, this day, than any man in England!"
Here again Mr. Dombey’s assent is qualified; because he is going to confer a great distinction on a lady; and, no doubt, she is to be envied most.
"As to Edith Granger, Sir," pursues the Major, "there is not a woman in all Europe but might—and would, Sir, you will allow Bagstock to add—and would—give her ears, and her earrings, too, to be in Edith Granger’s place."
"You are good enough to say so, Major," says Mr. Dombey.
"Dombey," returns the Major, "you know it. Let us have no false delicacy. You know it. Do you know it, or do you not, Dombey?" says the Major, almost in a passion.
"Oh, really, Major—"
"Damme, Sir," retorts the Major, "do you know that fact, or do you not? Dombey! Is old Joe your friend? Are we on that footing of unreserved intimacy, Dombey, that may justify a man—a blunt old Joseph B., Sir—in speaking out; or am I to take open order, Dombey, and to keep my distance, and to stand on forms?"
"My dear Major Bagstock," says Mr. Dombey, with a gratified air, "you are quite warm."
"By Gad, Sir," says the Major, "I am warm. Joseph B. does not deny it, Dombey. He is warm. This is an occasion, Sir, that calls forth all the honest sympathies remaining in an old, infernal, battered, used-up, invalided, J. B. carcase. And I tell you what, Dombey—at such a time a man must blurt out what he feels, or put a muzzle on; and Joseph Bagstock tells you to your face, Dombey, as he tells his club behind your back, that he never will be muzzled when Paul Dombey is in question. Now, damme, Sir," concludes the Major, with great firmness, "what do you make of that?"
"Major," says Mr. Dombey, "I assure you that I am really obliged to you. I had no idea of checking your too partial friendship."
"Not too partial, Sir!" exclaims the choleric Major. "Dombey, I deny it."
"Your friendship I will say then," pursues Mr. Dombey, "on any account. Nor can I forget, Major, on such an occasion as the present, how much I am indebted to it."
"Dombey," says the Major, with appropriate action, "that is the hand of Joseph Bagstock: of plain old Joey B., Sir, if you like that better! That is the hand, of which His Royal Highness the late Duke of York, did me the honour to observe, Sir, to His Royal Highness the late Duke of Kent, that it was the hand of Josh: a rough and tough, and possibly
