“On such an occasion I will give you, Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “in a little more flip,” for we had been having some already, “the memory of my papa and mama.”
“Are they dead, ma’am?” I enquired, after drinking the toast in a wine-glass.
“My mama departed this life,” said Mrs. Micawber, “before Mr. Micawber’s difficulties commenced, or at least before they became pressing. My papa lived to bail Mr. Micawber several times, and then expired, regretted by a numerous circle.”
Mrs. Micawber shook her head, and dropped a pious tear upon the twin who happened to be in hand.
As I could hardly hope for a more favourable opportunity of putting a question in which I had a near interest, I said to Mrs. Micawber:
“May I ask, ma’am, what you and Mr. Micawber intend to do, now that Mr. Micawber is out of his difficulties, and at liberty? Have you settled yet?”
“My family,” said Mrs. Micawber, who always said those two words with an air, though I never could discover who came under the denomination, “my family are of opinion that Mr. Micawber should quit London, and exert his talents in the country. Mr. Micawber is a man of great talent, Master Copperfield.”
I said I was sure of that.
“Of great talent,” repeated Mrs. Micawber. “My family are of opinion, that, with a little interest, something might be done for a man of his ability in the Custom House. The influence of my family being local, it is their
wish that Mr. Micawber should go down to Plymouth. They think it indispensable that he should be upon the spot.”