interest;
and a divan, which made him poorly. In this delicious abode, Mr Toots
devoted himself to the cultivation of those gentle arts which refine
and humanise existence, his chief instructor in which was an interesting
character called the Game Chicken, who was always to be heard of at the
bar of the Black Badger, wore a shaggy white great-coat in the warmest
weather, and knocked Mr Toots about the head three times a week, for the
small consideration of ten and six per visit.

The Game Chicken, who was quite the Apollo of Mr Toots's Pantheon, had
introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who taught
fencing, a jobmaster who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who was
up to anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends
connected no less intimately with the fine arts. Under whose auspices
Mr Toots could hardly fail to improve apace, and under whose tuition he
went to work.

But however it came about, it came to pass, even while these gentlemen
had the gloss of novelty upon them, that Mr Toots felt, he didn't know
how, unsettled and uneasy. There were husks in his corn, that even Game
Chickens couldn't peck up; gloomy giants in his leisure, that even Game
Chickens couldn't knock down. Nothing seemed to do Mr Toots so much good
as incessantly leaving cards at Mr Dombey's door. No taxgatherer in the
British Dominions--that wide-spread territory on which the sun never
sets, and where the tax-gatherer never goes to bed--was more regular and
persevering in his calls than Mr Toots.

Mr Toots never went upstairs; and always performed the same ceremonies,
richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.

'Oh! Good morning!' would be Mr Toots's first remark to the servant.
'For Mr Dombey,' would be Mr Toots's next remark, as he handed in a
card. 'For Miss Dombey,' would be his next, as he handed in another.

Mr Toots would then turn round as if to go away; but the man knew him by
this time, and knew he wouldn't.

'Oh, I beg your pardon,' Mr Toots would say, as if a thought had
suddenly descended on him. 'Is the young woman at home?'

The man would rather think she was, but wouldn't quite know. Then he
would ring a bell that rang upstairs, and would look up the staircase,
and would say, yes, she was at home, and was coming down. Then Miss
Nipper would appear, and the man would retire.

'Oh! How de do?' Mr Toots would say, with a chuckle and a blush.

Susan would thank him, and say she