him.

'Why, Tom, my boy!' cried the gentleman. 'Tom!'

'How glad I am to see you, Mr Westlock!' said Tom Pinch, shaking both
his hands, and trembling more than ever. 'How kind you are!'

'Mr Westlock!' repeated John, 'what do you mean by that, Pinch? You have
not forgotten my Christian name, I suppose?'

'No, John, no. I have not forgotten,' said Thomas Pinch. 'Good gracious
me, how kind you are!'

'I never saw such a fellow in all my life!' cried John. 'What do you
mean by saying THAT over and over again? What did you expect me to be, I
wonder! Here, sit down, Tom, and be a reasonable creature. How are you,
my boy? I am delighted to see you!'

'And I am delighted to see YOU,' said Tom.

'It's mutual, of course,' returned John. 'It always was, I hope. If
I had known you had been coming, Tom, I would have had something for
breakfast. I would rather have such a surprise than the best breakfast
in the world, myself; but yours is another case, and I have no doubt you
are as hungry as a hunter. You must make out as well as you can, Tom,
and we'll recompense ourselves at dinner-time. You take sugar, I know;
I recollect the sugar at Pecksniff's. Ha, ha, ha! How IS Pecksniff? When
did you come to town? DO begin at something or other, Tom. There are
only scraps here, but they are not at all bad. Boar's Head potted. Try
it, Tom. Make a beginning whatever you do. What an old Blade you are! I
am delighted to see you.'

While he delivered himself of these words in a state of great commotion,
John was constantly running backwards and forwards to and from the
closet, bringing out all sorts of things in pots, scooping extraordinary
quantities of tea out of the caddy, dropping French rolls into his
boots, pouring hot water over the butter, and making a variety of
similar mistakes without disconcerting himself in the least.

'There!' said John, sitting down for the fiftieth time, and instantly
starting up again to make some other addition to the breakfast. 'Now we
are as well off as we are likely to be till dinner. And now let us have
the news, Tom. Imprimis, how's Pecksniff?'

'I don't know how he is,' was Tom's grave answer.

John Westlock put the teapot down, and looked at him, in astonishment.

'I don't know how he is,' said Thomas Pinch; 'and, saving that I wish
him no ill, I don't care. I have left him, John. I have left him for
ever.'

'Voluntarily?'

'Why, no, for he dismissed me. But I had first found out that