Suffering the lid of the desk to fall with a loud noise, but not forgetting even then to lock it, Jonas, pale and breathless, gazed upon this phantom. It moved, opened the door, and walked in.
‘What’s the matter?’ cried Jonas, falling back. ‘Who is it? Where do you come from? What do you want?’
‘Matter!’ cried the voice of Mr Pecksniff, as Pecksniff in the flesh smiled amiably upon him. ‘The matter, Mr Jonas!’
‘What are you prying and peering about here for?’ said Jonas, angrily. ‘What do you mean by coming up to town in this way, and taking one unawares? It’s precious odd a man can’t read the—the newspaper—in his own office without being startled out of his wits by people coming in without notice. Why didn’t you knock at the door?’
‘So I did, Mr Jonas,’ answered Pecksniff, ‘but no one heard me. I was curious,’ he added in his gentle way as he laid his hand upon the young man’s shoulder, ‘to find out what part of the newspaper interested you so much; but the glass was too dim and dirty.’
Jonas glanced in haste at the partition. Well. It wasn’t very clean. So far he spoke the truth.
‘Was it poetry now?’ said Mr Pecksniff, shaking the forefinger of his right hand with an air of cheerful banter. ‘Or was it politics? Or was it the price of stock? The main chance, Mr Jonas, the main chance, I suspect.’
‘You ain’t far from the truth,’ answered Jonas, recovering himself and snuffing the candle; ‘but how the deuce do you come to be in London again? Ecod! it’s enough to make a man stare, to see a fellow looking at him all of a sudden, who he thought was sixty or seventy mile away.’
‘So it is,’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘No doubt of it, my dear Mr Jonas. For while the human mind is constituted as it is—’
‘Oh, bother the human mind,’ interrupted Jonas with impatience ‘what have you come up for?’