‘Forgive!’ cried Tom. ‘I’ll never forgive you as long as I live, Martin, if you say another syllable about it. Joy to you both! Joy, my dear fellow, fifty thousand times.’
Joy! There is not a blessing on earth that Tom did not wish them. There is not a blessing on earth that Tom would not have bestowed upon them, if he could.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, stepping forward, ‘but yow was mentionin’, just now, a lady of the name of Lupin, sir.’
‘I was,’ returned old Martin
‘Yes, sir. It’s a pretty name, sir?’
‘A very good name,’ said Martin.
‘It seems a’most a pity to change such a name into Tapley. Don’t it, sir?’ said Mark.
‘That depends upon the lady. What is her opinion?’
‘Why, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, retiring, with a bow, towards the buxom hostess, ‘her opinion is as the name ain’t a change for the better, but the indiwidual may be, and, therefore, if nobody ain’t acquainted with no jest cause or impediment, et cetrer, the Blue Dragon will be con-werted into the Jolly Tapley. A sign of my own inwention, sir. Wery new, conwivial, and expressive!’
The whole of these proceedings were so agreeable to Mr Pecksniff that he stood with his eyes fixed upon the floor and his hands clasping one another alternately, as if a host of penal sentences were being passed upon him. Not only did his figure appear to have shrunk, but his discomfiture seemed to have extended itself even to his dress. His clothes seemed to have grown shabbier, his linen to have turned yellow, his hair to have become lank and frowsy; his very boots looked villanous and dim, as if their gloss had departed with his own.