After his father and Florence had left him the doctor said to Cornelia:
“Cornelia, Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring him on, Cornelia, bring him on. Take him round the house, Cornelia, and familiarize him with his new sphere. Go with that young lady, Dombey.”
Cornelia took him first to the schoolroom. Here there were eight young gentlemen in various stages of mental prostration, all very hard at work, and very grave indeed.
Mr. Feeder, B. A., had his Virgil stop on, and was slowly grinding that tune to four young gentlemen. Of the remaining four, two, who grasped their foreheads convulsively, were engaged in solving mathematical problems; one, with his face like a dirty window from much crying, was endeavouring to flounder through a hopeless number of lines before dinner; and one sat looking at his task in stony stupefaction and despair—which, it seemed, had been his condition ever since breakfast time.
After being shown through the dormitories, Cornelia told him dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes, and that in the meantime he had better go into the schoolroom among his “friends.”
His friends were all dispersed about the room except the stony friend, who remained immovable. Mr. Feeder was stretching himself in his gray gown, as if, regardless of expense, he were resolved to pull the sleeves off.
“Heigh-ho-hum!” cried Mr. Feeder, shaking himself like a cart horse “oh dear me, dear me! Ya-a-a-ah!”
“You sleep in my room, don’t you?” asked a solemn young gentleman, whose shirt collar curled up the lobes of his ears.
“Master Briggs?” inquired Paul.
“Tozer,” said the young gentleman.