"This is his wife, of course," said Miss Tox, singling out the young woman with the baby. "How do you do, Polly?"
"I'm pretty well, I thank you. Ma'am," said Polly.
By way of bringing her out dexterously, Miss Tox had made the inquiry as in condescension to an old acquaintance whom she hadn't seen for a fortnight or so.
"I'm glad to hear it," said Miss Tox. "The other young woman is her unmarried sister who lives with them, and would take care of her children. Her name's Jemima. How do you do, Jemima?"
"I'm pretty well, I thank you, Ma'am," returned Jemima.
"I'm very glad indeed to hear it," said Miss Tox. I hope you 'll keep so. Five children. Youngest six weeks. The fine little boy with the blister on his nose is the eldest. The blister, I believe," said Miss Tox, looking round upon the family, "is not constitutional, but accidental?"
The apple-faced man was understood to growl, "Flat iron."
"I beg your pardon. Sir," said Miss Tox, "did you?—"
"Flat iron," he repeated.
"Oh yes," said Miss Tox. "Yes! quite true. I forgot. The little creature, in his mother's absence, smelt a warm flat iron. You 're quite right, Sir. You were going to have the goodness to inform me, when we arrived at the door, that you were by trade, a—"
"Stoker," said the man.
"A choker!" said Miss Tox, quite aghast.
"Stoker," said the man. "Steam ingine."
"Oh-h! Yes!" returned Miss Tox, looking thoughtfully at him, and seeming still to have but a very imperfect understanding of his meaning. "And how do you like it, Sir?"
"Which, Mum?" said the man.
"That," replied Mss Tox. "Your trade."
"Oh! Pretty well, Mum. The ashes sometimes gets in here;" touching his chest; "and makes a man speak gruff, as at the present time. But it is ashes, Mum, not crustiness."
Miss Tox seemed to be so little enlightened by this reply, as to find a difficulty in pursuing the subject. But Mrs. Chick relieved her, by entering into a close private examination of Polly, her children, her marriage certificate, testimonials, and so forth. Polly coming out unscathed from this ordeal, Mrs. Chick withdrew with her report to her brother's room, and as an emphatic comment on it, and corroboration of it, carried the two rosiest little Toodles with her. Toodle being the family name of the apple-faced family.
Mr. Dombey had remained in his own apartment since the death of his wife, absorbed in visions of the youth, education, and destination of his baby son. Something lay at the bottom of his cool heart, colder and heavier than its ordinary load; but it was more a sense of the child's loss than his own, awakening within him an almost angry sorrow. That the life and progress on which he built such hopes, should be endangered in the outset by so mean a want; that Dombey and Son should be tottering for a nurse, was a sore humiliation. And yet in his pride and jealousy, he viewed with so much bitterness the thought of being dependent for the
