‘He might get more money than with her,’ said the old man, ‘but she will help him to take care of what they have. She is not too young or heedless, and comes of a good hard griping stock. But don’t you play too fine a game. She only holds him by a thread; and if you draw it too tight (I know his temper) it’ll snap. Bind him when he’s in the mood, Pecksniff; bind him. You’re too deep. In your way of leading him on, you’ll leave him miles behind. Bah, you man of oil, have I no eyes to see how you have angled with him from the first?’
‘Now I wonder,’ thought Mr Pecksniff, looking at him with a wistful face, ‘whether this is all he has to say?’
Old Anthony rubbed his hands and muttered to himself; complained again that he was cold; drew his chair before the fire; and, sitting with his back to Mr Pecksniff, and his chin sunk down upon his breast, was, in another minute, quite regardless or forgetful of his presence.
Uncouth and unsatisfactory as this short interview had been, it had furnished Mr Pecksniff with a hint which, supposing nothing further were imparted to him, repaid the journey up and home again. For the good gentleman had never (for want of an opportunity) dived into the depths of Mr Jonas’s nature; and any recipe for catching such a son-in-law (much more one written on a leaf out of his own father’s book) was worth the having. In order that he might lose no chance of improving so fair an opportunity by allowing Anthony to fall asleep before he had finished all he had to say, Mr Pecksniff, in the disposal of the refreshments on the table, a work to which he now applied himself in earnest, resorted to many ingenious contrivances for attracting his attention; such as coughing, sneezing, clattering the teacups, sharpening the knives, dropping the loaf, and so forth. But all in vain, for Mr Jonas returned, and Anthony had said no more.
‘What! My father asleep again?’ he cried, as he hung up his hat, and cast a look at him. ‘Ah! and snoring. Only hear!’
‘He snores very deep,’ said Mr Pecksniff.
‘Snores deep?’ repeated Jonas. ‘Yes; let him alone for that. He’ll snore for six, at any time.’
‘Do you know, Mr Jonas,’ said Pecksniff, ‘that I think your father is—don’t let me alarm you—breaking?’
‘Oh, is he though?’ replied Jonas, with a shake of the head which expressed the closeness of his dutiful observation. ‘Ecod, you don’t know how tough he is. He ain’t upon the move yet.’
‘It struck me that he was changed, both in his appearance and manner,’ said Mr Pecksniff.