“The boat brought you word, I suppose?” said my aunt.
“It did, ma’am,” he returned.
“Well?” said my aunt. “And she sails—”
“Madam,” he replied, “I am informed that we must positively be on board before seven to-morrow morning.”
“Heyday!” said my aunt, “that’s soon. Is it a sea-going fact, Mr. Peggotty?”
“’Tis so, ma’am. She’ll drop down the river with that theer tide. If Mas’r Davy and my sister comes aboard at Gravesen’, arternoon o’ next day, they’ll see the last on us.”
“And that we shall do,” said I, “be sure!”
“Until then, and until we are at sea,” observed Mr. Micawber, with a glance of intelligence at me, “Mr. Peggotty and myself will constantly keep a double look-out together, on our goods and chattels. Emma, my love,” said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat in his magnificent way, “my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles is so obliging as to solicit, in my ear, that he should have the privilege of ordering the ingredients necessary to the composition of a moderate portion of that Beverage which is peculiarly associated, in our minds, with the Roast Beef of old England. I allude to—in short, Punch. Under ordinary circumstances, I should scruple to entreat the indulgence of Miss Trotwood and Miss Wickfield, but——”
“I can only say for myself,” said my aunt, “that I will drink all happiness and success to you, Mr. Micawber, with the utmost pleasure.”
“And I too!” said Agnes, with a smile.