“Why yes, yes—some of our lost ships, freighted with gold, have come home, truly,” returns old Sol, laughing. “Small craft, Mr Toots, but serviceable to my boy!”
“Exactly so,” says Mr Toots. “You’ll never find my wife wrong. ‘Here he is,’ says that most remarkable woman, ‘so situated,—and what follows? What follows?’ observed Mrs Toots. Now pray remark, Captain Gills, and Mr Sols, the depth of my wife’s penetration. ‘Why that, under the very eye of Mr Dombey, there is a foundation going on, upon which a—an Edifice;’ that was Mrs Toots’s word,” says Mr Toots exultingly, ‘“is gradually rising, perhaps to equal, perhaps excel, that of which he was once the head, and the small beginnings of which (a common fault, but a bad one, Mrs Toots said) escaped his memory. Thus,’ said my wife, ‘from his daughter, after all, another Dombey and Son will ascend’—no ‘rise;’ that was Mrs Toots’s word—‘triumphant!’”
Mr Toots, with the assistance of his pipe—which he is extremely glad to devote to oratorical purposes, as its proper use affects him with a very uncomfortable sensation—does such grand justice to this prophetic sentence of his wife’s, that the Captain, throwing away his glazed hat in a state of the greatest excitement, cries:
“Sol Gills, you man of science and my ould pardner, what did I tell Wal”r to overhaul on that there night when he first took to business? Was it this here quotation, ‘Turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old you will never depart from it.’ Was it them words, Sol Gills?”
“It certainly was, Ned,” replied the old Instrument-maker. “I remember well.”
“Then I tell you what,” says the Captain, leaning back in his chair, and composing his chest for a prodigious roar. “I’ll give you Lovely Peg right through; and stand by, both on you, for the chorus!”
Buried wine grows older, as the old Madeira did, in its time; and dust and cobwebs thicken on the bottles.
Autumn days are shining, and on the sea-beach there are often a young lady, and a white-haired gentleman. With them, or near them, are two children: boy and girl. And an old dog is generally in their company.
The white-haired gentleman walks with the little boy, talks with him, helps him in his play, attends upon him, watches him as if he were the object of his life. If he be thoughtful, the white-haired gentleman is thoughtful too; and sometimes when the child is sitting by his side, and looks up in his face, asking him questions, he takes the tiny hand in his, and holding it, forgets to answer. Then the child says:
“What, grandpa! Am I so like my poor little Uncle again?”