was fain to look another way.

'--It will be worse for me to know of such doings, than if I was alive;
for to be tormented for getting that together, which even while I suffer
for its acquisition, is flung into the very kennels of the streets,
would be insupportable torture. No,' said the old man, hoarsely, 'let
that be saved at least; let there be something gained, and kept fast
hold of, when so much is lost.'

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit,' said Pecksniff, 'these are unwholesome fancies;
quite unnecessary, sir, quite uncalled for, I am sure. The truth is, my
dear sir, that you are not well!'

'Not dying though!' cried Anthony, with something like the snarl of a
wild animal. 'Not yet! There are years of life in me. Why, look at him,'
pointing to his feeble clerk. 'Death has no right to leave him standing,
and to mow me down!'

Mr Pecksniff was so much afraid of the old man, and so completely taken
aback by the state in which he found him, that he had not even presence
of mind enough to call up a scrap of morality from the great storehouse
within his own breast. Therefore he stammered out that no doubt it was,
in fairness and decency, Mr Chuffey's turn to expire; and that from
all he had heard of Mr Chuffey, and the little he had the pleasure of
knowing of that gentleman, personally, he felt convinced in his own
mind that he would see the propriety of expiring with as little delay as
possible.

'Come here!' said the old man, beckoning him to draw nearer. 'Jonas
will be my heir, Jonas will be rich, and a great catch for you. You know
that. Jonas is sweet upon your daughter.'

'I know that too,' thought Mr Pecksniff, 'for you have said it often
enough.'

'He might get more money than with her,' said the old man, 'but she
will help him to take care of what they have. She is not too young or
heedless, and comes of a good hard griping stock. But don't you play
too fine a game. She only holds him by a thread; and if you draw it too
tight (I know his temper) it'll snap. Bind him when he's in the mood,
Pecksniff; bind him. You're too deep. In your way of leading him on,
you'll leave him miles behind. Bah, you man of oil, have I no eyes to
see how you have angled with him from the first?'

'Now I wonder,' thought Mr Pecksniff, looking at him with a wistful
face, 'whether this is all he has to say?'

Old Anthony rubbed his hands and muttered to himself; complained again
that he was cold; drew his chair before the fire; and,