"Stand by!" said Captain Cuttle, filling his glass again. "Give the boy some more."
"Yes," said Sol, "a little more. We'll finish the bottle to the House,--Walter's house. Why, it may be his house one of these days, in part. Who knows? Sir Richard Whittington married his master's daughter."
"Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old, you will never depart from it," interposed the Captain. "Wal'r, overhaul the book, my lad!"
"And although Mr. Dombey hasn't a daughter--" Sol began.
"Yes, yes, he has, uncle," said the boy, reddening and laughing. "I know he has. Some of them were talking about it in the office to-day. And they do say that he's taken a dislike to her, and that she's left unnoticed among the servants, while he thinks of no one but his son. That's what they say. Of course I don't know."
"He knows all about her already, you see," said the instrument-maker.
"Nonsense, uncle," cried the boy reddening again; "how can I help hearing what they tell me?"
"The son's a little in our way at present, I'm afraid," added the old man, humoring the joke. "Nevertheless, we'll drink to him," pursued Sol. "So, here's to Dombey and Son."
"Oh, very well, uncle," said the boy merrily. "Since you have introduced the mention of her, and have said that I know all about her, I shall make bold to amend the toast. So,--here's to Dombey--and Son--and Daughter!"
Meanwhile, in Mr. Dombey's mansion, baby Paul was thriving under the watchful care of Polly Richards, Mr. Dombey, and Mr. Dombey's friends, and the day of his christening arrived. On that important occasion, the baby's excitement was so great that no one could soothe him until Florence was summoned. As she hid behind her nurse, he followed her with his eyes; and when she peeped out with a merry cry to him, he sprang up and crowed lustily--laughing outright when she ran in upon him, and seeming to fondle her curls with his tiny hands while she smothered him with kisses.