‘What!’ cried Tom.
‘Having taken a chair.’
‘You said a pudding.’
‘No, no,’ replied John, colouring rather; ‘a chair. The idea of a stranger coming into my rooms at half-past eight o’clock in the morning, and taking a pudding! Having taken a chair, Tom, a chair—amazed me by opening the conversation thus: “I believe you are acquainted, sir, with Mr Thomas Pinch?”
‘No!’ cried Tom.
‘His very words, I assure you. I told him I was. Did I know where you were at present residing? Yes. In London? Yes. He had casually heard, in a roundabout way, that you had left your situation with Mr Pecksniff. Was that the fact? Yes, it was. Did you want another? Yes, you did.’
‘Certainly,’ said Tom, nodding his head.
‘Just what I impressed upon him. You may rest assured that I set that point beyond the possibility of any mistake, and gave him distinctly to understand that he might make up his mind about it. Very well.’
“Then,” said he, “I think I can accommodate him.”’
Tom’s sister stopped short.