Uncouth and unsatisfactory as this short interview had been, it had furnished Mr. Pecksniff with a hint which, supposing nothing further were imparted to him, repaid the journey up, and home again. For the good gentleman had never (for want of an opportunity) dived into the depths of Mr. Jonas's nature; and any recipe for catching such a son-in-law (much more, one written on a leaf out of his own father's book) was worth the having. In order that he might lose no chance of improving so fair an opportunity by allowing Anthony to fall asleep before he had finished all he had to say, Mr. Pecksniff, in the disposal of the refreshments on the table—a work to which he now. applied himself in earnest—resorted to many ingenious contrivances for attracting his attention, such as coughing, sneezing, clattering the teacups, sharpening the knives, dropping the loaf, and so forth. But all in vain, for Mr. Jonas returned, and Anthony had said no more.
"What! my father asleep again?" he cried, as he hung up his hat, and cast a look at him. "Ah! and snoring. Only hear!"
"He snores very deep," said Mr. Pecksniff.
"Snores deep?" repeated Jonas. "Yes; let him alone for that. He 'll snore for six, at any time."
"Do you know, Mr. Jonas," said Pecksniff, "that I think your father is—don't let me alarm you—breaking?"
"Oh, is he though," replied Jonas, with a shake of the head which expressed the closeness of his dutiful observation. "Ecod, you don't know how tough he is. He ain't upon the move yet."
"It struck me that he was changed, both in his appearance and manner," said Mr. Pecksniff.
"That's all you know about it," returned Jonas, seating himself with a melancholy air. "He never was better than he is now. How are they all at home? How's Charity?"
"Blooming, Mr. Jonas, blooming."
"And the other one—how's she?"
"Volatile trifler!" said Mr. Pecksniff, fondly musing. "She is well—she is well. Roving from parlour to bed-room, Mr. Jonas, like the bee; skimming from post to pillar, like the butterfly; dipping her young beak into our currant wine, like the humming-bird! Ah! were she a little less giddy than she is; and had she but the sterling qualities of Cherry, my young friend!"
"Is she so very giddy, then?" asked Jonas.
"Well, well!" said Mr. Pecksniff, with great feeling; "let me not be hard upon my child. Beside her sister Cherry she appears so. A strange noise that, Mr. Jonas!"
"Something wrong in the clock, I suppose," said Jonas, glancing towards it. "So the other one ain't your favourite, ain't she?"
The fond father was about to reply, and had already summoned into his face a look of the intensest sensibility, when the sound he had already noticed was repeated.
"Upon my word, Mr. Jonas, that is a very extraordinary clock," said Pecksniff.
It would have been, if it had made the noise which startled them:
