‘But it must be made,’ thought Tom, ‘sooner or later; and I had better get it over.’
Rat tat.
‘I am afraid that’s not a London knock,’ thought Tom. ‘It didn’t sound bold. Perhaps that’s the reason why nobody answers the door.’
It is quite certain that nobody came, and that Tom stood looking at the knocker; wondering whereabouts in the neighbourhood a certain gentleman resided, who was roaring out to somebody ‘Come in!’ with all his might.
‘Bless my soul!’ thought Tom at last. ‘Perhaps he lives here, and is calling to me. I never thought of that. Can I open the door from the outside, I wonder. Yes, to be sure I can.’
To be sure he could, by turning the handle; and to be sure when he did turn it the same voice came rushing out, crying ‘Why don’t you come in? Come in, do you hear? What are you standing there for?’—quite violently.
Tom stepped from the little passage into the room from which these sounds proceeded, and had barely caught a glimpse of a gentleman in a dressing-gown and slippers (with his boots beside him ready to put on), sitting at his breakfast with a newspaper in his hand, when the said gentleman, at the imminent hazard of oversetting his tea-table, made a plunge at Tom, and hugged him.
‘Why, Tom, my boy!’ cried the gentleman. ‘Tom!’
‘How glad I am to see you, Mr Westlock!’ said Tom Pinch, shaking both his hands, and trembling more than ever. ‘How kind you are!’
‘Mr Westlock!’ repeated John, ‘what do you mean by that, Pinch? You have not forgotten my Christian name, I suppose?’