‘I hope so,’ returned old Martin. ‘I think she deserves it.’
‘Think!’ cried Pecksniff, ‘think, Mr Chuzzlewit!’
‘You are speaking, I know,’ returned Martin, ‘but I don’t catch what you say. Speak up!’
‘He’s getting deafer than a flint,’ said Pecksniff. ‘I was saying, my dear sir, that I am afraid I must make up my mind to part with Cherry.’
‘What has she been doing?’ asked the old man.
‘He puts the most ridiculous questions I ever heard!’ muttered Mr Pecksniff. ‘He’s a child to-day.’ After which he added, in a mild roar: ‘She hasn’t been doing anything, my dear friend.’
‘What are you going to part with her for?’ demanded Martin.
‘She hasn’t her health by any means,’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘She misses her sister, my dear sir; they doted on each other from the cradle. And I think of giving her a run in London for a change. A good long run, sir, if I find she likes it.’
‘Quite right,’ cried Martin. ‘It’s judicious.’
‘I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you mean to bear me company in this dull part, while she’s away?’ said Mr Pecksniff.