ate. The old man listened with great
attention, and when he had concluded, drew his arm eagerly through his
own.

'Don't say another word. Not another word' said he. 'Come along with me.
We mustn't lose a minute.'

So saying, the old gentleman dragged him back into Oxford Street, and
hailing an omnibus on its way to the city, pushed Nicholas in before
him, and followed himself.

As he appeared in a most extraordinary condition of restless excitement,
and whenever Nicholas offered to speak, immediately interposed with:
'Don't say another word, my dear sir, on any account--not another word,'
the young man thought it better to attempt no further interruption.
Into the city they journeyed accordingly, without interchanging any
conversation; and the farther they went, the more Nicholas wondered what
the end of the adventure could possibly be.

The old gentleman got out, with great alacrity, when they reached
the Bank, and once more taking Nicholas by the arm, hurried him along
Threadneedle Street, and through some lanes and passages on the right,
until they, at length, emerged in a quiet shady little square. Into the
oldest and cleanest-looking house of business in the square, he led the
way. The only inscription on the door-post was 'Cheeryble, Brothers;'
but from a hasty glance at the directions of some packages which were
lying about, Nicholas supposed that the brothers Cheeryble were German
merchants.

Passing through a warehouse which presented every indication of a
thriving business, Mr Cheeryble (for such Nicholas supposed him to
be, from the respect which had been shown him by the warehousemen
and porters whom they passed) led him into a little partitioned-off
counting-house like a large glass case, in which counting-house there
sat--as free from dust and blemish as if he had been fixed into the
glass case before the top was put on, and had never come out since--a
fat, elderly, large-faced clerk, with silver spectacles and a powdered
head.

'Is my brother in his room, Tim?' said Mr Cheeryble, with no less
kindness of manner than he had shown to Nicholas.

'Yes, he is, sir,' replied the fat clerk, turning his spectacle-glasses
towards his principal, and his eyes towards Nicholas, 'but Mr Trimmers
is with him.'

'Ay! And what has he come about, Tim?' said Mr Cheeryble.

'He is getting up a subscription for the widow and family of a man who
was killed in the East India Docks this morning, sir,' rejoined Tim.