Dexter’s eyes wandered from the doctor to a dark-looking bust upon the top of a book-shelf. From thence to a brown bust on the opposite shelf, at which he laughed, for though it was meant for Cicero, it put him greatly in mind of Mr Sibery, and he then fell a-wondering what the boys were doing at the workhouse school.
Just then the black marble timepiece on the shelf chimed four quarters, and struck eleven.
“No matter what may be the descent,” wrote the doctor, “the human frame is composed of the same element.”
“I say,” cried Dexter loudly.
“Eh? Yes?” said the doctor, looking up.
“What time are you going to have dinner!”
“Dinner? One o’clock, sir. Why, it’s not long since you had breakfast.”
“Seems a long time.”
“Go on looking at your book.”
Dexter obeyed, and the doctor went on writing, and became very interested in his work.