“No, Mrs Butt, I haven’t found ’er, and I don’t expect to find ’er at all.”
“Lawk! sir, I’m so sorry.”
“Has Mr Zook come?”
“Yes, sir ’e’s inside and looks impatient. The smell o’ the toast seems a’most too strong a temptation for ’im; I’m glad you’ve come.”
“Look here, Zook,” said Charlie, entering his parlour, “go into that bedroom. You’ll find a bundle of new clothes there. Put them on. Wrap your old clothes in a handkerchief, and bring them to me. Tea will be ready when you are.”
The surprised pauper did as he was bid, without remark, and re-entered the parlour a new man!
“My own mother, if I ’ad one, wouldn’t know me, sir,” he said, glancing admiringly at his vest.
“Jim Smith, Esquire,” returned Charlie, laughing. “I really don’t think she would.”
“Zook, sir,” said the little man, with a grave shake of the head; “couldn’t think of changin’ my name at my time of life; let it be Zook, if you please, sir, though in course I’ve no objection to esquire, w’en I ’ave the means to maintain my rank.”
“Well, Zook, you have at all events the means to make a good supper, so sit down and go to work, and I’ll talk to you while you eat,—but, stay, hand me the bundle of old clothes.”