He patted Anthony upon the hand as one might comfort a child, and drawing the old man's arm still further through his own, shook his trembling fingers towards the spot where Jonas sat, as though he would wave him off. But, Anthony remaining quite still and silent, he relaxed his hold by slow degrees and lapsed into his usual niche in the corner: merely putting forth his hand at intervals and touching his old employer gently on the coat, as with the design of assuring himself that he was yet beside him.
Mr. Jonas was so very much amazed by these proceedings that he could do nothing but stare at the two old men, until Chuffey had fallen into his usual state, and Anthony had sunk into a doze; when he gave some vent to his emotions by going close up to the former personage, and making as though he would, in vulgar parlance, `punch his head.'
`They've been carrying on this game,' thought Jonas in a brown study, `for the last two or three weeks. I never saw my father take so much notice of him as he has in that time. What! You're legacy hunting, are you, Mister Chuff? Eh?'
But Chuffey was as little conscious of the thought as of the bodily advance of Mr. Jonas's clenched fist, which hovered fondly about his ear.
When he had scowled at him to his heart's content, Jonas took the candle from the table, and walking into the glass office, produced a bunch of keys from his pocket. With one of these he opened a secret drawer in the desk: peeping stealthily out, as he did so, to be certain that the two old men were still before the fire.
`All as right as ever,' said Jonas, propping the lid of the desk open with his forehead, and unfolding a paper. `Here's the will, Mister Chuff.
Thirty pound a year for your maintenance, old boy, and all the rest to his only son, Jonas. You needn't trouble yourself to be too affectionate.
You won't get anything by it. What's that?'
It was startling, certainly. A face on the other side of the glass partition looking curiously in: and not at him but at the paper in his hand. For the eyes were attentively cast down upon the writing, and were swiftly raised when he cried out. Then they met his own, and were as the eyes of Mr. Pecksniff.
Suffering the lid of the desk to fall with a loud noise, but not forgetting even then to lock it, Jonas, pale and breathless, gazed upon this phantom.
It moved, opened the door, and walked in.
`What's the matter?' cried Jonas, falling back. `Who is it? Where do you come from? What do you want?'
`Matter!' cried the voice of Mr. Pecksniff, as Pecksniff in the flesh smiled amiably upon him. `The matter, Mr. Jonas!'
`What are you prying and peering about here for?' said Jonas, angrily.
`What do you mean by coming up to town in this way, and taking one unawares?
It's precious odd a man can't read the -- the newspaper -- in his own office without being startled out of his wits by people coming in without notice.
Why didn't you knock at the door?'
`So I did, Mr. Jonas,' answered Pecksniff, `but no one heard me. I was curious,' he added in his gentle way as he laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder, `to find out what part of the newspaper interested you so much; but the glass was too dim and dirty.'
Jonas glanced in haste at the partition. Well. It wasn't very clean.
So far he spoke the truth.
`Was it poetry now?' said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking the fore-finger of his right hand with an air of cheerful banter. `Or was it politics? Or was it the price of stock? The main chance, Mr. Jonas, the main chance, I suspect.'
`You ain't far from the truth,' answered Jonas, recovering himself and snuffing the candle: `but how the deuce do you come to be in London again?
Ecod! it's enough to make a man stare, to see a fellow looking at him all of a sudden, who he thought was sixty or seventy mile away.'
`So it is,' said Mr. Pecksniff. `No doubt of it, my dear Mr. Jonas.
For while the human mind is constituted as it is --'
`Oh, bother the human mind,' interrupted Jonas with impatience `what have you come up for?'
`A little matter of business,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `which has arisen quite unexpectedly.'
`Oh!' cried Jonas, `is that all? Well. Here's father in the next room.
Hallo father, here's Pecksniff! He gets more addle-pated every day he lives, I do believe,' muttered Jonas, shaking his honoured parent roundly. `Don't I tell you Pecksniff's here, stupid head?'
The combined effects of the shaking and this loving remonstrance soon awoke the old man, who gave Mr. Pecksniff a chuckling welcome which was attributable in part to his being glad to see that gentleman, and in part to his unfading delight in the recollection of having called him a hypocrite.
As Mr. Pecksniff had not yet taken tea (indeed he had, but an hour before, arrived in London) the remains of the late collation, with a rasher of bacon, were served up for his entertainment; and as Mr. Jonas had a business appointment in the next street, he stepped out to keep it: promising to return before Mr. Pecksniff could finish his repast.
`And now, my good sir,' said Mr. Pecksniff to Anthony: `now that we are alone, pray tell me what I can do for you. I say alone, because I believe that our dear friend Mr. Chuffey is, metaphysically speaking, a -- shall I say a dummy?' asked Mr. Pecksniff with his sweetest smile, and his head very much on one side.
`He neither hears us,' replied Anthony, `nor sees us.'
`Why, then,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `I will be bold to say, with the utmost sympathy for his afflictions, and the greatest admiration of those excellent qualities which do equal honour to his head and to his heart, that he is what is playfully termed a dummy. You were going to observe, my dear sir--?'
`I was not going to make any observation that I know of,' replied the old man.
` I was,' said Mr. Pecksniff, mildly.
`Oh! you were? What was it?'
