“My tailor’s Burgess and Co.,” said Toots. “Fash’nable. But very dear.”
Paul had wit enough to shake his head, as if he would have said it was easy to see that; and indeed he thought so.
“Your father’s regularly rich, ain’t he?” inquired Mr Toots.
“Yes, Sir,” said Paul. “He’s Dombey and Son.”
“And which?” demanded Toots.
“And Son, Sir,” replied Paul.
Mr Toots made one or two attempts, in a low voice, to fix the Firm in his mind; but not quite succeeding, said he would get Paul to mention the name again to-morrow morning, as it was rather important. And indeed he purposed nothing less than writing himself a private and confidential letter from Dombey and Son immediately.
By this time the other pupils (always excepting the stony boy) gathered round. They were polite, but pale; and spoke low; and they were so depressed in their spirits, that in comparison with the general tone of that company, Master Bitherstone was a perfect Miller, or complete Jest Book.” And yet he had a sense of injury upon him, too, had Bitherstone.
“You sleep in my room, don’t you?” asked a solemn young gentleman, whose shirt-collar curled up the lobes of his ears.
“Master Briggs?” inquired Paul.