two nights before.

Mr Pyke no sooner ascertained that he was quite right in his conjecture,
than he launched into the most extravagant encomiums of the divine
original; and in the warmth of his enthusiasm kissed the picture a
thousand times, while Mr Pluck pressed Mrs Nickleby's hand to his heart,
and congratulated her on the possession of such a daughter, with so much
earnestness and affection, that the tears stood, or seemed to stand,
in his eyes. Poor Mrs Nickleby, who had listened in a state of enviable
complacency at first, became at length quite overpowered by these tokens
of regard for, and attachment to, the family; and even the servant
girl, who had peeped in at the door, remained rooted to the spot in
astonishment at the ecstasies of the two friendly visitors.

By degrees these raptures subsided, and Mrs Nickleby went on to
entertain her guests with a lament over her fallen fortunes, and a
picturesque account of her old house in the country: comprising a full
description of the different apartments, not forgetting the little
store-room, and a lively recollection of how many steps you went down to
get into the garden, and which way you turned when you came out at the
parlour door, and what capital fixtures there were in the kitchen. This
last reflection naturally conducted her into the wash-house, where she
stumbled upon the brewing utensils, among which she might have wandered
for an hour, if the mere mention of those implements had not, by an
association of ideas, instantly reminded Mr Pyke that he was 'amazing
thirsty.'

'And I'll tell you what,' said Mr Pyke; 'if you'll send round to the
public-house for a pot of milk half-and-half, positively and actually
I'll drink it.'

And positively and actually Mr Pyke DID drink it, and Mr Pluck
helped him, while Mrs Nickleby looked on in divided admiration of the
condescension of the two, and the aptitude with which they accommodated
themselves to the pewter-pot; in explanation of which seeming marvel it
may be here observed, that gentlemen who, like Messrs Pyke and Pluck,
live upon their wits (or not so much, perhaps, upon the presence
of their own wits as upon the absence of wits in other people) are
occasionally reduced to very narrow shifts and straits, and are at such
periods accustomed to regale themselves in a very simple and primitive
manner.

'At twenty minutes before seven, then,' said Mr Pyke, rising, 'the coach
will be here. One more look--one litt