"If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances," murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before.
"Exactly," returned Jonas; "if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly."
"So it is," cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. "You 're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!"
"Well," said Jonas, "on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronising this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the—"
"Not the truth " cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. "Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!"
"The long and the short of it," said Jonas. "The long and the short of it is, what's the security?"
"The paid-up capital, my dear sir," said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, "is, at this present moment—"
"Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know," said Jonas.
"You do?" cried Tigg, stopping short.
"I should hope so."
He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear:
"I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!"
It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity.
"You know me?" he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. "You recollect? You 've seen me before?"
"Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in," said Jonas, gazing at it; "but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?"
"Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?" said Tigg.
"In Pecksniff's parlour!" echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. "You don't mean when—"
"Yes," cried Tigg, "when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted."
"Well, never mind him!" said Jonas. "He's dead, and there's no help for it."
"Dead, is he!" cried Tigg. "Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You 're very like him."
Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace: perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr. Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits, were remarkable.
