‘Pretty well, I thank you, sir. I hope you are the same.’
‘Yes, John Chivery; yes. Nothing to complain of.’
‘I have taken the liberty, sir, of—’
‘Eh?’ The Father of the Marshalsea always lifted up his eyebrows at this point, and became amiably distraught and smilingly absent in mind.
‘—A few cigars, sir.’
‘Oh!’ (For the moment, excessively surprised.) ‘Thank you, Young John, thank you. But really, I am afraid I am too—No? Well then, I will say no more about it. Put them on the mantelshelf, if you please, Young John. And sit down, sit down. You are not a stranger, John.’
‘Thank you, sir, I am sure—Miss;’ here Young John turned the great hat round and round upon his left-hand, like a slowly twirling mouse-cage; ‘Miss Amy quite well, sir?’
‘Yes, John, yes; very well. She is out.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘Yes, John. Miss Amy is gone for an airing. My young people all go out a good deal. But at their time of life, it’s natural, John.’