prompt:
Chapter: As soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which quite deserted me
in the first overpowering shock of my aunt's intelligence, I proposed
to Mr. Dick to come round to the chandler's shop, and take possession of
the bed which Mr. Peggotty had lately vacated. The chandler's shop being
in Hungerford Market, and Hungerford Market being a very different place
in those days, there was a low wooden colonnade before the door (not
very unlike that before the house where the little man and woman used
to live, in the old weather-glass), which pleased Mr. Dick mightily. The
glory of lodging over this structure would have compensated him, I dare
say, for many inconveniences; but, as there were really few to bear,
beyond the compound of flavours I have already mentioned, and perhaps
the want of a little more elbow-room, he was perfectly charmed with his
accommodation. Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured him that there wasn't
room to swing a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me,
sitting down on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg, 'You know,
Trotwood, I don't want to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat.
Therefore, what does that signify to ME!'

I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Dick had any understanding of the
causes of this sudden and great change in my aunt's affairs. As I might
have expected, he had none at all. The only account he could give of it
was, that my aunt had said to him, the day before yesterday, 'Now, Dick,
are you really and truly the philosopher I take you for?' That then
he had said, Yes, he hoped so. That then my aunt had said, 'Dick, I
am ruined.' That then he had said, 'Oh, indeed!' That then my aunt had
praised him highly, which he was glad of. And that then they had come to
me, and had had bottled porter and sandwiches on the road.

Mr. Dick was so very complacent, sitting on the foot of the bed, nursing
his leg, and telling me this, with his eyes wide open and a surprised
smile, that I am sorry to say I was provoked into explaining to him
that ruin meant distress, want, and starvation; but I was soon bitterly
reproved for this harshness, by seeing his face turn pale, and tears
course down his lengthened cheeks, while he fixed upon me a look of such
unutterable woe, that it might have softened a far harder heart than
mine. I took infinitely greater pains to cheer him up again than I had
taken to depress him; and I soon understood (as I ought to have known at
first) that he had been so confident, merely because of his faith in
the wisest and most wonderful of women, and his unbounded reliance on my
intellectual resources. The latter, I believe, he considered a match for
any kind of disaster not absolutely mortal.

'What can we do, Trotwood?' said Mr. Dick. 'There's the Memorial-'

'To be sure there is,' said I. 'But all we can do just now, Mr. Dick,
is to keep a cheerful countenance, and not let my aunt see that we are
thinking about it.'

He assented to this in the most earnest manner; and implored me, if I
should see him wandering an inch out of the right course, to recall him
by some of those superior methods which were always at my command. But I
regret to state that the fright I had given him proved too much for his
best attempts at concealment. All the evening his eyes wandered to my
aunt's face, with an expression of the most dismal apprehension, as if
he saw her growing thin on the spot. He was conscious of this, and put
a constraint upon his head; but his keeping that immovable, and sitting
rolling his eyes like a piece of machinery, did not mend the matter at
all. I saw him look at the loaf at supper (which happened to be a small
one), as if nothing else stood between us and famine; and when my aunt
insisted on his making his customary repast, I detected him in the act
of pocketing fragments of his bread and cheese; I have no doubt for the
purpose of reviving us with those savings, when we should have reached
an advanced stage of attenuation.

My aunt, on the other hand, was in a composed frame of mind, which was
a lesson to all of us--to me, I am sure. She was extremely gracious
to Peggotty, except when I inadvertently called her by that name; and,
strange as I knew she felt in London, appeared quite at home. She was
to have my bed, and I was to lie in the sitting-room, to keep guard over
her. She made a great point of being so near the river, in case of a
conflagration; and I suppose really did find some satisfaction in that
circumstance.

'Trot, my dear,' said my aunt, when she saw me making preparations for
compounding her usual night-draught, 'No!'

'Nothing, aunt?'

'Not wine, my dear. Ale.'

'But there is wine here, aunt. And you always have it made of wine.'

'Keep that, in case of sickness,' said my aunt. 'We mustn't use it
carelessly, Trot. Ale for me. Half a pint.'

I thought Mr. Dick would have fallen, insensible. My aunt being
resolute, I went out and got the ale myself. As it was growing late,
Peggotty and Mr. Dick took that opportunity of repairing to the
chandler's shop together. I parted from him, poor fellow, at the corner
of the street, with his great kite at his back, a very monument of human
misery.

My aunt was walking up and down the room when I returned, crimping the
borders of her nightcap with her fingers. I warmed the ale and made the
toast on the usual infallible principles. When it was ready for her, she
was ready for it, with her nightcap on, and the skirt of her gown turned
back on her knees.

'My dear,' said my aunt, after taking a spoonful of it; 'it's a great
deal better than wine. Not half so bilious.'

I suppose I looked doubtful, for she added:

'Tut, tut, child. If nothing worse than Ale happens to us, we are well
off.'

'I should think so myself, aunt, I am sure,' said I.

'Well, then, why DON'T you think so?' said my aunt.

'Because you and I are very different people,' I returned.

'Stuff and nonsense, Trot!' replied my aunt.

My aunt went on with a quiet enjoyment, in which there was very little
affectation, if any; drinking the warm ale with a tea-spoon, and soaking
her strips of toast in it.

'Trot,' said she, 'I don't care for strange faces in general, but I
rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know!'

'It's better than a hundred pounds to hear you say so!' said I.

'It's a most extraordinary world,' observed my aunt, rubbing her nose;
'how that woman ever got into it with that name, is unaccountable to me.
It would be much more easy to be born a Jackson, or something of that
sort, one would think.'

'Perhaps she thinks so, too; it's not her fault,' said I.

'I suppose not,' returned my aunt, rather grudging the admission; 'but
it's very aggravating. However, she's Barkis now. That's some comfort.
Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot.'

'There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it,' said I.

'Nothing, I believe,' returned my aunt. 'Here, the poor fool has been
begging and praying about handing over some of her money--because she
has got too much of it. A simpleton!'

My aunt's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into the warm
ale.

'She's the most ridiculous creature that ever was born,' said my aunt.
'I knew, from the first moment when I saw her with that poor dear
blessed baby of a mother of yours, that she was the most ridiculous of
mortals. But there are good points in Barkis!'

Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her hand to
her eyes. Having availed herself of it, she resumed her toast and her
discourse together.

'Ah! Mercy upon us!' sighed my aunt. 'I know all about it, Trot! Barkis
and myself had quite a gossip while you were out with Dick. I know all
about it. I don't know where these wretched girls expect to go to, for
my part. I wonder they don't knock out their brains against--against
mantelpieces,' said my aunt; an idea which was probably suggested to her
by her contemplation of mine.

'Poor Emily!' said I.

'Oh, don't talk to me about poor,' returned my aunt. 'She should have
thought of that, before she caused so much misery! Give me a kiss, Trot.
I am sorry for your early experience.'

As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me, and
said:

'Oh, Trot, Trot! And so you fancy yourself in love! Do you?'

'Fancy, aunt!' I exclaimed, as red as I could be. 'I adore her with my
whole soul!'

'Dora, indeed!' returned my aunt. 'And you mean to say the little thing
is very fascinating, I suppose?'

'My dear aunt,' I replied, 'no one can form the least idea what she is!'

'Ah! And not silly?' said my aunt.

'Silly, aunt!'

I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single
moment, to consider whether she was or not. I resented the idea, of
course; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a new one altogether.

'Not light-headed?' said my aunt.

'Light-headed, aunt!' I could only repeat this daring speculation
with the same kind of feeling with which I had repeated the preceding
question.

'Well, well!' said my aunt. 'I only ask. I don't depreciate her. Poor
little couple! And so you think you were formed for one another, and are
to go through a party-supper-table kind of life, like two pretty pieces
of confectionery, do you, Trot?'

She asked me this so kindly, and with such a gentle air, half playful
and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched.

'We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know,' I replied; 'and I dare
say we say and think a good deal that is rather foolish. But we love
one another truly, I am sure. If I thought Dora could ever love anybody
else, or cease to love me; or that I could ever love anybody else, or
cease to love her; I don't know what I should do--go out of my mind, I
think!'

'Ah, Trot!' said my aunt, shaking her head, and smiling gravely; 'blind,
blind, blind!'

'Someone that I know, Trot,' my aunt pursued, after a pause, 'though of
a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness of affection in him that
reminds me of poor Baby. Earnestness is what that Somebody must look
for, to sustain him and improve him, Trot. Deep, downright, faithful
earnestness.'

'If you only knew the earnestness of Dora, aunt!' I cried.

'Oh, Trot!' she said again; 'blind, blind!' and without knowing why,
I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow me like a
cloud.

'However,' said my aunt, 'I don't want to put two young creatures out
of conceit with themselves, or to make them unhappy; so, though it is a
girl and boy attachment, and girl and boy attachments very often--mind!
I don't say always!--come to nothing, still we'll be serious about it,
and hope for a prosperous issue one of these days. There's time enough
for it to come to anything!'

This was not upon the whole very comforting to a rapturous lover; but
I was glad to have my aunt in my confidence, and I was mindful of
her being fatigued. So I thanked her ardently for this mark of her
affection, and for all her other kindnesses towards me; and after a
tender good night, she took her nightcap into my bedroom.

How miserable I was, when I lay down! How I thought and thought about my
being poor, in Mr. Spenlow's eyes; about my not being what I thought I
was, when I proposed to Dora; about the chivalrous necessity of
telling Dora what my worldly condition was, and releasing her from her
engagement if she thought fit; about how I should contrive to live,
during the long term of my articles, when I was earning nothing; about
doing something to assist my aunt, and seeing no way of doing anything;
about coming down to have no money in my pocket, and to wear a shabby
coat, and to be able to carry Dora no little presents, and to ride no
gallant greys, and to show myself in no agreeable light! Sordid and
selfish as I knew it was, and as I tortured myself by knowing that it
was, to let my mind run on my own distress so much, I was so devoted
to Dora that I could not help it. I knew that it was base in me not to
think more of my aunt, and less of myself; but, so far, selfishness
was inseparable from Dora, and I could not put Dora on one side for any
mortal creature. How exceedingly miserable I was, that night!

As to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes, but I
seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of going to sleep. Now I
was ragged, wanting to sell Dora matches, six bundles for a halfpenny;
now I was at the office in a nightgown and boots, remonstrated with by
Mr. Spenlow on appearing before the clients in that airy attire; now
I was hungrily picking up the crumbs that fell from old Tiffey's
daily biscuit, regularly eaten when St. Paul's struck one; now I was
hopelessly endeavouring to get a licence to marry Dora, having nothing
but one of Uriah Heep's gloves to offer in exchange, which the whole
Commons rejected; and still, more or less conscious of my own room, I
was always tossing about like a distressed ship in a sea of bed-clothes.

My aunt was restless, too, for I frequently heard her walking to and
fro. Two or three times in the course of the night, attired in a long
flannel wrapper in which she looked seven feet high, she appeared, like
a disturbed ghost, in my room, and came to the side of the sofa on which
I lay. On the first occasion I started up in alarm, to learn that she
inferred from a particular light in the sky, that Westminster Abbey
was on fire; and to be consulted in reference to the probability of its
igniting Buckingham Street, in case the wind changed. Lying still, after
that, I found that she sat down near me, whispering to herself 'Poor
boy!' And then it made me twenty times more wretched, to know how
unselfishly mindful she was of me, and how selfishly mindful I was of
myself.

It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me, could be short
to anybody else. This consideration set me thinking and thinking of an
imaginary party where people were dancing the hours away, until that
became a dream too, and I heard the music incessantly playing one tune,
and saw Dora incessantly dancing one dance, without taking the least
notice of me. The man who had been playing the harp all night, was
trying in vain to cover it with an ordinary-sized nightcap, when I
awoke; or I should rather say, when I left off trying to go to sleep,
and saw the sun shining in through the window at last.

There was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one of the
streets out of the Strand--it may be there still--in which I have had
many a cold plunge. Dressing myself as quietly as I could, and leaving
Peggotty to look after my aunt, I tumbled head foremost into it,
and then went for a walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that this brisk
treatment might freshen my wits a little; and I think it did them good,
for I soon came to the conclusion that the first step I ought to take
was, to try if my articles could be cancelled and the premium recovered.
I got some breakfast on the Heath, and walked back to Doctors' Commons,
along the watered roads and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers,
growing in gardens and carried into town on hucksters' heads, intent on
this first effort to meet our altered circumstances.

I arrived at the office so soon, after all, that I had half an hour's
loitering about the Commons, before old Tiffey, who was always first,
appeared with his key. Then I sat down in my shady corner, looking up
at the sunlight on the opposite chimney-pots, and thinking about Dora;
until Mr. Spenlow came in, crisp and curly.

'How are you, Copperfield?' said he. 'Fine morning!'

'Beautiful morning, sir,' said I. 'Could I say a word to you before you
go into Court?'

'By all means,' said he. 'Come into my room.'

I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown, and
touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside a
closet door.

'I am sorry to say,' said I, 'that I have some rather disheartening
intelligence from my aunt.'

'No!' said he. 'Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?'

'It has no reference to her health, sir,' I replied. 'She has met with
some large losses. In fact, she has very little left, indeed.'

'You as-tound me, Copperfield!' cried Mr. Spenlow.

I shook my head. 'Indeed, sir,' said I, 'her affairs are so changed,
that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible--at a sacrifice on
our part of some portion of the premium, of course,' I put in this, on
the spur of the moment, warned by the blank expression of his face--'to
cancel my articles?'

What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It was like asking,
as a favour, to be sentenced to transportation from Dora.

'To cancel your articles, Copperfield? Cancel?'

I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not know where
my means of subsistence were to come from, unless I could earn them for
myself. I had no fear for the future, I said--and I laid great emphasis
on that, as if to imply that I should still be decidedly eligible for a
son-in-law one of these days--but, for the present, I was thrown upon
my own resources. 'I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield,' said
Mr. Spenlow. 'Extremely sorry. It is not usual to cancel articles for
any such reason. It is not a professional course of proceeding. It is
not a convenient precedent at all. Far from it. At the same time--'

'You are very good, sir,' I murmured, anticipating a concession.

'Not at all. Don't mention it,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'At the same time, I
was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered--if
I had not a partner--Mr. Jorkins--'

My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort.

'Do you think, sir,' said I, 'if I were to mention it to Mr. Jorkins--'

Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. 'Heaven forbid, Copperfield,'
he replied, 'that I should do any man an injustice: still less, Mr.
Jorkins. But I know my partner, Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is not a man
to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very
difficult to move from the beaten track. You know what he is!'

I am sure I knew nothing about him, except that he had originally been
alone in the business, and now lived by himself in a house near Montagu
Square, which was fearfully in want of painting; that he came very
late of a day, and went away very early; that he never appeared to be
consulted about anything; and that he had a dingy little black-hole of
his own upstairs, where no business was ever done, and where there was
a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon his desk, unsoiled by ink, and
reported to be twenty years of age.

'Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir?' I asked.

'By no means,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'But I have some experience of Mr.
Jorkins, Copperfield. I wish it were otherwise, for I should be happy
to meet your views in any respect. I cannot have the objection to your
mentioning it to Mr. Jorkins, Copperfield, if you think it worth while.'

Availing myself of this permission, which was given with a warm shake
of the hand, I sat thinking about Dora, and looking at the sunlight
stealing from the chimney-pots down the wall of the opposite house,
until Mr. Jorkins came. I then went up to Mr. Jorkins's room, and
evidently astonished Mr. Jorkins very much by making my appearance
there.

'Come in, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. Jorkins. 'Come in!'

I went in, and sat down; and stated my case to Mr. Jorkins pretty much
as I had stated it to Mr. Spenlow. Mr. Jorkins was not by any means the
awful creature one might have expected, but a large, mild, smooth-faced
man of sixty, who took so much snuff that there was a tradition in the
Commons that he lived principally on that stimulant, having little room
in his system for any other article of diet.

'You have mentioned this to Mr. Spenlow, I suppose?' said Mr. Jorkins;
when he had heard me, very restlessly, to an end.

I answered Yes, and told him that Mr. Spenlow had introduced his name.

'He said I should object?' asked Mr. Jorkins.

I was obliged to admit that Mr. Spenlow had considered it probable.

'I am sorry to say, Mr. Copperfield, I can't advance your object,' said
Mr. Jorkins, nervously. 'The fact is--but I have an appointment at the
Bank, if you'll have the goodness to excuse me.'

With that he rose in a great hurry, and was going out of the room, when
I made bold to say that I feared, then, there was no way of arranging
the matter?

'No!' said Mr. Jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his head. 'Oh, no!
I object, you know,' which he said very rapidly, and went out. 'You must
be aware, Mr. Copperfield,' he added, looking restlessly in at the door
again, 'if Mr. Spenlow objects--'

'Personally, he does not object, sir,' said I.

'Oh! Personally!' repeated Mr. Jorkins, in an impatient manner. 'I
assure you there's an objection, Mr. Copperfield. Hopeless! What you
wish to be done, can't be done. I--I really have got an appointment
at the Bank.' With that he fairly ran away; and to the best of my
knowledge, it was three days before he showed himself in the Commons
again.

Being very anxious to leave no stone unturned, I waited until Mr.
Spenlow came in, and then described what had passed; giving him to
understand that I was not hopeless of his being able to soften the
adamantine Jorkins, if he would undertake the task.

'Copperfield,' returned Mr. Spenlow, with a gracious smile, 'you have
not known my partner, Mr. Jorkins, as long as I have. Nothing is
farther from my thoughts than to attribute any degree of artifice to Mr.
Jorkins. But Mr. Jorkins has a way of stating his objections which often
deceives people. No, Copperfield!' shaking his head. 'Mr. Jorkins is not
to be moved, believe me!'

I was completely bewildered between Mr. Spenlow and Mr. Jorkins, as
to which of them really was the objecting partner; but I saw with
sufficient clearness that there was obduracy somewhere in the firm, and
that the recovery of my aunt's thousand pounds was out of the
question. In a state of despondency, which I remember with anything
but satisfaction, for I know it still had too much reference to myself
(though always in connexion with Dora), I left the office, and went
homeward.

I was trying to familiarize my mind with the worst, and to present to
myself the arrangements we should have to make for the future in their
sternest aspect, when a hackney-chariot coming after me, and stopping at
my very feet, occasioned me to look up. A fair hand was stretched forth
to me from the window; and the face I had never seen without a feeling
of serenity and happiness, from the moment when it first turned back
on the old oak staircase with the great broad balustrade, and when I
associated its softened beauty with the stained-glass window in the
church, was smiling on me.

'Agnes!' I joyfully exclaimed. 'Oh, my dear Agnes, of all people in the
world, what a pleasure to see you!'

'Is it, indeed?' she said, in her cordial voice.

'I want to talk to you so much!' said I. 'It's such a lightening of my
heart, only to look at you! If I had had a conjuror's cap, there is no
one I should have wished for but you!'

'What?' returned Agnes.

'Well! perhaps Dora first,' I admitted, with a blush.

'Certainly, Dora first, I hope,' said Agnes, laughing.

'But you next!' said I. 'Where are you going?'

She was going to my rooms to see my aunt. The day being very fine, she
was glad to come out of the chariot, which smelt (I had my head in it
all this time) like a stable put under a cucumber-frame. I dismissed the
coachman, and she took my arm, and we walked on together. She was like
Hope embodied, to me. How different I felt in one short minute, having
Agnes at my side!

My aunt had written her one of the odd, abrupt notes--very little longer
than a Bank note--to which her epistolary efforts were usually limited.
She had stated therein that she had fallen into adversity, and was
leaving Dover for good, but had quite made up her mind to it, and was
so well that nobody need be uncomfortable about her. Agnes had come to
London to see my aunt, between whom and herself there had been a mutual
liking these many years: indeed, it dated from the time of my taking up
my residence in Mr. Wickfield's house. She was not alone, she said. Her
papa was with her--and Uriah Heep.

'And now they are partners,' said I. 'Confound him!'

'Yes,' said Agnes. 'They have some business here; and I took advantage
of their coming, to come too. You must not think my visit all friendly
and disinterested, Trotwood, for--I am afraid I may be cruelly
prejudiced--I do not like to let papa go away alone, with him.' 'Does he
exercise the same influence over Mr. Wickfield still, Agnes?'

Agnes shook her head. 'There is such a change at home,' said she, 'that
you would scarcely know the dear old house. They live with us now.'

'They?' said I.

'Mr. Heep and his mother. He sleeps in your old room,' said Agnes,
looking up into my face.

'I wish I had the ordering of his dreams,' said I. 'He wouldn't sleep
there long.'

'I keep my own little room,' said Agnes, 'where I used to learn my
lessons. How the time goes! You remember? The little panelled room that
opens from the drawing-room?'

'Remember, Agnes? When I saw you, for the first time, coming out at the
door, with your quaint little basket of keys hanging at your side?'

'It is just the same,' said Agnes, smiling. 'I am glad you think of it
so pleasantly. We were very happy.'

'We were, indeed,' said I.

'I keep that room to myself still; but I cannot always desert Mrs. Heep,
you know. And so,' said Agnes, quietly, 'I feel obliged to bear her
company, when I might prefer to be alone. But I have no other reason to
complain of her. If she tires me, sometimes, by her praises of her son,
it is only natural in a mother. He is a very good son to her.'

I looked at Agnes when she said these words, without detecting in her
any consciousness of Uriah's design. Her mild but earnest eyes met
mine with their own beautiful frankness, and there was no change in her
gentle face.

'The chief evil of their presence in the house,' said Agnes, 'is that I
cannot be as near papa as I could wish--Uriah Heep being so much between
us--and cannot watch over him, if that is not too bold a thing to say,
as closely as I would. But if any fraud or treachery is practising
against him, I hope that simple love and truth will be strong in the
end. I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any
evil or misfortune in the world.'

A certain bright smile, which I never saw on any other face, died away,
even while I thought how good it was, and how familiar it had once been
to me; and she asked me, with a quick change of expression (we were
drawing very near my street), if I knew how the reverse in my aunt's
circumstances had been brought about. On my replying no, she had not
told me yet, Agnes became thoughtful, and I fancied I felt her arm
tremble in mine.

We found my aunt alone, in a state of some excitement. A difference
of opinion had arisen between herself and Mrs. Crupp, on an abstract
question (the propriety of chambers being inhabited by the gentler sex);
and my aunt, utterly indifferent to spasms on the part of Mrs. Crupp,
had cut the dispute short, by informing that lady that she smelt of
my brandy, and that she would trouble her to walk out. Both of these
expressions Mrs. Crupp considered actionable, and had expressed her
intention of bringing before a 'British Judy'--meaning, it was supposed,
the bulwark of our national liberties.

My aunt, however, having had time to cool, while Peggotty was out
showing Mr. Dick the soldiers at the Horse Guards--and being, besides,
greatly pleased to see Agnes--rather plumed herself on the affair than
otherwise, and received us with unimpaired good humour. When Agnes laid
her bonnet on the table, and sat down beside her, I could not but think,
looking on her mild eyes and her radiant forehead, how natural it
seemed to have her there; how trustfully, although she was so young and
inexperienced, my aunt confided in her; how strong she was, indeed, in
simple love and truth.

We began to talk about my aunt's losses, and I told them what I had
tried to do that morning.

'Which was injudicious, Trot,' said my aunt, 'but well meant. You are
a generous boy--I suppose I must say, young man, now--and I am proud of
you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes, let us look the case
of Betsey Trotwood in the face, and see how it stands.'

I observed Agnes turn pale, as she looked very attentively at my aunt.
My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes.

'Betsey Trotwood,' said my aunt, who had always kept her money matters
to herself. '--I don't mean your sister, Trot, my dear, but myself--had
a certain property. It don't matter how much; enough to live on. More;
for she had saved a little, and added to it. Betsey funded her property
for some time, and then, by the advice of her man of business, laid
it out on landed security. That did very well, and returned very good
interest, till Betsey was paid off. I am talking of Betsey as if she
was a man-of-war. Well! Then, Betsey had to look about her, for a new
investment. She thought she was wiser, now, than her man of business,
who was not such a good man of business by this time, as he used to
be--I am alluding to your father, Agnes--and she took it into her head
to lay it out for herself. So she took her pigs,' said my aunt, 'to a
foreign market; and a very bad market it turned out to be. First, she
lost in the mining way, and then she lost in the diving way--fishing up
treasure, or some such Tom Tiddler nonsense,' explained my aunt, rubbing
her nose; 'and then she lost in the mining way again, and, last of all,
to set the thing entirely to rights, she lost in the banking way. I
don't know what the Bank shares were worth for a little while,' said my
aunt; 'cent per cent was the lowest of it, I believe; but the Bank was
at the other end of the world, and tumbled into space, for what I know;
anyhow, it fell to pieces, and never will and never can pay sixpence;
and Betsey's sixpences were all there, and there's an end of them. Least
said, soonest mended!'

My aunt concluded this philosophical summary, by fixing her eyes with a
kind of triumph on Agnes, whose colour was gradually returning.

'Dear Miss Trotwood, is that all the history?' said Agnes.

'I hope it's enough, child,' said my aunt. 'If there had been more
money to lose, it wouldn't have been all, I dare say. Betsey would have
contrived to throw that after the rest, and make another chapter, I have
little doubt. But there was no more money, and there's no more story.'

Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her colour still came
and went, but she breathed more freely. I thought I knew why. I thought
she had had some fear that her unhappy father might be in some way to
blame for what had happened. My aunt took her hand in hers, and laughed.

'Is that all?' repeated my aunt. 'Why, yes, that's all, except, "And she
lived happy ever afterwards." Perhaps I may add that of Betsey yet, one
of these days. Now, Agnes, you have a wise head. So have you, Trot, in
some things, though I can't compliment you always'; and here my aunt
shook her own at me, with an energy peculiar to herself. 'What's to be
done? Here's the cottage, taking one time with another, will produce
say seventy pounds a year. I think we may safely put it down at
that. Well!--That's all we've got,' said my aunt; with whom it was an
idiosyncrasy, as it is with some horses, to stop very short when she
appeared to be in a fair way of going on for a long while.

'Then,' said my aunt, after a rest, 'there's Dick. He's good for a
hundred a-year, but of course that must be expended on himself. I would
sooner send him away, though I know I am the only person who appreciates
him, than have him, and not spend his money on himself. How can Trot and
I do best, upon our means? What do you say, Agnes?'

'I say, aunt,' I interposed, 'that I must do something!'

'Go for a soldier, do you mean?' returned my aunt, alarmed; 'or go to
sea? I won't hear of it. You are to be a proctor. We're not going to
have any knockings on the head in THIS family, if you please, sir.'

I was about to explain that I was not desirous of introducing that mode
of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired if my rooms were held
for any long term?

'You come to the point, my dear,' said my aunt. 'They are not to be got
rid of, for six months at least, unless they could be underlet, and that
I don't believe. The last man died here. Five people out of six would
die--of course--of that woman in nankeen with the flannel petticoat. I
have a little ready money; and I agree with you, the best thing we can
do, is, to live the term out here, and get a bedroom hard by.'

I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt would sustain,
from living in a continual state of guerilla warfare with Mrs. Crupp;
but she disposed of that objection summarily by declaring that, on the
first demonstration of hostilities, she was prepared to astonish Mrs.
Crupp for the whole remainder of her natural life.

'I have been thinking, Trotwood,' said Agnes, diffidently, 'that if you
had time--'

'I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disengaged after four
or five o'clock, and I have time early in the morning. In one way and
another,' said I, conscious of reddening a little as I thought of the
hours and hours I had devoted to fagging about town, and to and fro upon
the Norwood Road, 'I have abundance of time.'

'I know you would not mind,' said Agnes, coming to me, and speaking in
a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful consideration that I hear it
now, 'the duties of a secretary.'

'Mind, my dear Agnes?'

'Because,' continued Agnes, 'Doctor Strong has acted on his intention of
retiring, and has come to live in London; and he asked papa, I know,
if he could recommend him one. Don't you think he would rather have his
favourite old pupil near him, than anybody else?'

'Dear Agnes!' said I. 'What should I do without you! You are always my
good angel. I told you so. I never think of you in any other light.'

Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, that one good Angel (meaning
Dora) was enough; and went on to remind me that the Doctor had been
used to occupy himself in his study, early in the morning, and in the
evening--and that probably my leisure would suit his requirements very
well. I was scarcely more delighted with the prospect of earning my own
bread, than with the hope of earning it under my old master; in short,
acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat down and wrote a letter to the
Doctor, stating my object, and appointing to call on him next day at
ten in the forenoon. This I addressed to Highgate--for in that place, so
memorable to me, he lived--and went and posted, myself, without losing a
minute.

Wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence
seemed inseparable from the place. When I came back, I found my aunt's
birds hanging, just as they had hung so long in the parlour window of
the cottage; and my easy-chair imitating my aunt's much easier chair in
its position at the open window; and even the round green fan, which my
aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to the window-sill. I knew
who had done all this, by its seeming to have quietly done itself; and I
should have known in a moment who had arranged my neglected books in the
old order of my school days, even if I had supposed Agnes to be miles
away, instead of seeing her busy with them, and smiling at the disorder
into which they had fallen.

My aunt was quite gracious on the subject of the Thames (it really did
look very well with the sun upon it, though not like the sea before the
cottage), but she could not relent towards the London smoke, which, she
said, 'peppered everything'. A complete revolution, in which Peggotty
bore a prominent part, was being effected in every corner of my rooms,
in regard of this pepper; and I was looking on, thinking how little even
Peggotty seemed to do with a good deal of bustle, and how much Agnes did
without any bustle at all, when a knock came at the door.

'I think,' said Agnes, turning pale, 'it's papa. He promised me that he
would come.'

I opened the door, and admitted, not only Mr. Wickfield, but Uriah Heep.
I had not seen Mr. Wickfield for some time. I was prepared for a great
change in him, after what I had heard from Agnes, but his appearance
shocked me.

It was not that he looked many years older, though still dressed
with the old scrupulous cleanliness; or that there was an unwholesome
ruddiness upon his face; or that his eyes were full and bloodshot; or
that there was a nervous trembling in his hand, the cause of which I
knew, and had for some years seen at work. It was not that he had lost
his good looks, or his old bearing of a gentleman--for that he had
not--but the thing that struck me most, was, that with the evidences of
his native superiority still upon him, he should submit himself to that
crawling impersonation of meanness, Uriah Heep. The reversal of the
two natures, in their relative positions, Uriah's of power and Mr.
Wickfield's of dependence, was a sight more painful to me than I can
express. If I had seen an Ape taking command of a Man, I should hardly
have thought it a more degrading spectacle.

He appeared to be only too conscious of it himself. When he came in, he
stood still; and with his head bowed, as if he felt it. This was
only for a moment; for Agnes softly said to him, 'Papa! Here is Miss
Trotwood--and Trotwood, whom you have not seen for a long while!' and
then he approached, and constrainedly gave my aunt his hand, and shook
hands more cordially with me. In the moment's pause I speak of, I saw
Uriah's countenance form itself into a most ill-favoured smile. Agnes
saw it too, I think, for she shrank from him.

What my aunt saw, or did not see, I defy the science of physiognomy
to have made out, without her own consent. I believe there never was
anybody with such an imperturbable countenance when she chose. Her face
might have been a dead-wall on the occasion in question, for any light
it threw upon her thoughts; until she broke silence with her usual
abruptness.

'Well, Wickfield!' said my aunt; and he looked up at her for the first
time. 'I have been telling your daughter how well I have been disposing
of my money for myself, because I couldn't trust it to you, as you were
growing rusty in business matters. We have been taking counsel together,
and getting on very well, all things considered. Agnes is worth the
whole firm, in my opinion.'

'If I may umbly make the remark,' said Uriah Heep, with a writhe, 'I
fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and should be only too appy if
Miss Agnes was a partner.'

'You're a partner yourself, you know,' returned my aunt, 'and that's
about enough for you, I expect. How do you find yourself, sir?'

In acknowledgement of this question, addressed to him with extraordinary
curtness, Mr. Heep, uncomfortably clutching the blue bag he carried,
replied that he was pretty well, he thanked my aunt, and hoped she was
the same.

'And you, Master--I should say, Mister Copperfield,' pursued Uriah. 'I
hope I see you well! I am rejoiced to see you, Mister Copperfield, even
under present circumstances.' I believed that; for he seemed to relish
them very much. 'Present circumstances is not what your friends would
wish for you, Mister Copperfield, but it isn't money makes the man:
it's--I am really unequal with my umble powers to express what it is,'
said Uriah, with a fawning jerk, 'but it isn't money!'

Here he shook hands with me: not in the common way, but standing at
a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a pump
handle, that he was a little afraid of.

'And how do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield,--I should
say, Mister?' fawned Uriah. 'Don't you find Mr. Wickfield blooming, sir?
Years don't tell much in our firm, Master Copperfield, except in raising
up the umble, namely, mother and self--and in developing,' he added, as
an afterthought, 'the beautiful, namely, Miss Agnes.'

He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an intolerable
manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at him, lost all
patience.

'Deuce take the man!' said my aunt, sternly, 'what's he about? Don't be
galvanic, sir!'

'I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood,' returned Uriah; 'I'm aware you're
nervous.'

'Go along with you, sir!' said my aunt, anything but appeased. 'Don't
presume to say so! I am nothing of the sort. If you're an eel, sir,
conduct yourself like one. If you're a man, control your limbs, sir!
Good God!' said my aunt, with great indignation, 'I am not going to be
serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses!'

Mr. Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have been, by this
explosion; which derived great additional force from the indignant
manner in which my aunt afterwards moved in her chair, and shook her
head as if she were making snaps or bounces at him. But he said to me
aside in a meek voice:

'I am well aware, Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood, though an
excellent lady, has a quick temper (indeed I think I had the pleasure
of knowing her, when I was a numble clerk, before you did, Master
Copperfield), and it's only natural, I am sure, that it should be made
quicker by present circumstances. The wonder is, that it isn't much
worse! I only called to say that if there was anything we could do, in
present circumstances, mother or self, or Wickfield and Heep,--we should
be really glad. I may go so far?' said Uriah, with a sickly smile at his
partner.

'Uriah Heep,' said Mr. Wickfield, in a monotonous forced way, 'is active
in the business, Trotwood. What he says, I quite concur in. You know
I had an old interest in you. Apart from that, what Uriah says I quite
concur in!'

'Oh, what a reward it is,' said Uriah, drawing up one leg, at the risk
of bringing down upon himself another visitation from my aunt, 'to be so
trusted in! But I hope I am able to do something to relieve him from the
fatigues of business, Master Copperfield!'

'Uriah Heep is a great relief to me,' said Mr. Wickfield, in the same
dull voice. 'It's a load off my mind, Trotwood, to have such a partner.'

The red fox made him say all this, I knew, to exhibit him to me in the
light he had indicated on the night when he poisoned my rest. I saw the
same ill-favoured smile upon his face again, and saw how he watched me.

'You are not going, papa?' said Agnes, anxiously. 'Will you not walk
back with Trotwood and me?'

He would have looked to Uriah, I believe, before replying, if that
worthy had not anticipated him.

'I am bespoke myself,' said Uriah, 'on business; otherwise I should
have been appy to have kept with my friends. But I leave my partner to
represent the firm. Miss Agnes, ever yours! I wish you good-day, Master
Copperfield, and leave my umble respects for Miss Betsey Trotwood.'

With those words, he retired, kissing his great hand, and leering at us
like a mask.

We sat there, talking about our pleasant old Canterbury days, an hour
or two. Mr. Wickfield, left to Agnes, soon became more like his former
self; though there was a settled depression upon him, which he never
shook off. For all that, he brightened; and had an evident pleasure in
hearing us recall the little incidents of our old life, many of which he
remembered very well. He said it was like those times, to be alone with
Agnes and me again; and he wished to Heaven they had never changed. I am
sure there was an influence in the placid face of Agnes, and in the very
touch of her hand upon his arm, that did wonders for him.

My aunt (who was busy nearly all this while with Peggotty, in the inner
room) would not accompany us to the place where they were staying, but
insisted on my going; and I went. We dined together. After dinner, Agnes
sat beside him, as of old, and poured out his wine. He took what she
gave him, and no more--like a child--and we all three sat together at a
window as the evening gathered in. When it was almost dark, he lay down
on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his head and bending over him a little while;
and when she came back to the window, it was not so dark but I could see
tears glittering in her eyes.

I pray Heaven that I never may forget the dear girl in her love and
truth, at that time of my life; for if I should, I must be drawing near
the end, and then I would desire to remember her best! She filled my
heart with such good resolutions, strengthened my weakness so, by her
example, so directed--I know not how, she was too modest and gentle
to advise me in many words--the wandering ardour and unsettled purpose
within me, that all the little good I have done, and all the harm I have
forborne, I solemnly believe I may refer to her.

And how she spoke to me of Dora, sitting at the window in the dark;
listened to my praises of her; praised again; and round the little
fairy-figure shed some glimpses of her own pure light, that made it yet
more precious and more innocent to me! Oh, Agnes, sister of my boyhood,
if I had known then, what I knew long afterwards--!

There was a beggar in the street, when I went down; and as I turned my
head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he made me
start by muttering, as if he were an echo of the morning: 'Blind! Blind!
Blind!'

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Depression. Talking with David, Betsey berates Little Em'ly for her foolishness and for causing misery to her family. Betsey asks David whether Dora is not silly and light-headed, and whether David expects their marriage to provide a "party-supper-table kind of life, like two pretty pieces of confectionary. She warns David that he is being "blind, blind, blind. David goes to bed depressed about his sudden poverty. He wonders how Mr. Spenlow will view his intention to marry Dora, and feels that he must offer Dora the chance to be released from their engagement. He worries too about Dora's having to go without things she wants. David tells Mr. Spenlow that due to Betsey's losses, he must cancel his training to be a proctor. Mr. Spenlow refuses to give David a refund for any part of the thousand pounds that Betsey paid for the apprenticeship, blaming Mr. Jorkins's obstinacy. On his way home, David meets Agnes, and tells her that she is the person he most wants to see. Agnes protests that Dora should occupy this place in David's life. On being with Agnes, David immediately feels better. Agnes tells David that Uriah and her father are now partners, that her father's house is completely changed, and that Uriah and his mother now live with them. Agnes and David visit Betsey, who tells them about her financial situation. Her old advisor, Mr. Wickfield, became increasingly unreliable, and so she made some investments of her own, which failed. Agnes tells David that Dr. Strong needs a secretary. She suggests that David apply for the job. Mr. Wickfield and Uriah arrive at David's apartment. David is shocked by the change in Mr. Wickfield, who has the red face, bloodshot eyes, and trembling hands of the habitual drinker. He appears to have given up all authority to Uriah. Betsey berates Uriah and bluntly tells Mr. Wickfield that he has grown unreliable in business matters. Uriah gloats over the reversal of fortune between himself and David, as he is now successful, whereas David is poor


prompt:
Chapter: I began the next day with another dive into the Roman bath, and then
started for Highgate. I was not dispirited now. I was not afraid of the
shabby coat, and had no yearnings after gallant greys. My whole manner
of thinking of our late misfortune was changed. What I had to do, was,
to show my aunt that her past goodness to me had not been thrown away
on an insensible, ungrateful object. What I had to do, was, to turn the
painful discipline of my younger days to account, by going to work with
a resolute and steady heart. What I had to do, was, to take my woodman's
axe in my hand, and clear my own way through the forest of difficulty,
by cutting down the trees until I came to Dora. And I went on at a
mighty rate, as if it could be done by walking.

When I found myself on the familiar Highgate road, pursuing such a
different errand from that old one of pleasure, with which it was
associated, it seemed as if a complete change had come on my whole life.
But that did not discourage me. With the new life, came new purpose,
new intention. Great was the labour; priceless the reward. Dora was the
reward, and Dora must be won.

I got into such a transport, that I felt quite sorry my coat was not
a little shabby already. I wanted to be cutting at those trees in the
forest of difficulty, under circumstances that should prove my strength.
I had a good mind to ask an old man, in wire spectacles, who was
breaking stones upon the road, to lend me his hammer for a little while,
and let me begin to beat a path to Dora out of granite. I stimulated
myself into such a heat, and got so out of breath, that I felt as if I
had been earning I don't know how much.

In this state, I went into a cottage that I saw was to let, and examined
it narrowly,--for I felt it necessary to be practical. It would do for
me and Dora admirably: with a little front garden for Jip to run about
in, and bark at the tradespeople through the railings, and a capital
room upstairs for my aunt. I came out again, hotter and faster than
ever, and dashed up to Highgate, at such a rate that I was there an
hour too early; and, though I had not been, should have been obliged to
stroll about to cool myself, before I was at all presentable.

My first care, after putting myself under this necessary course of
preparation, was to find the Doctor's house. It was not in that part of
Highgate where Mrs. Steerforth lived, but quite on the opposite side
of the little town. When I had made this discovery, I went back, in
an attraction I could not resist, to a lane by Mrs. Steerforth's, and
looked over the corner of the garden wall. His room was shut up close.
The conservatory doors were standing open, and Rosa Dartle was walking,
bareheaded, with a quick, impetuous step, up and down a gravel walk on
one side of the lawn. She gave me the idea of some fierce thing, that
was dragging the length of its chain to and fro upon a beaten track, and
wearing its heart out.

I came softly away from my place of observation, and avoiding that part
of the neighbourhood, and wishing I had not gone near it, strolled about
until it was ten o'clock. The church with the slender spire, that stands
on the top of the hill now, was not there then to tell me the time. An
old red-brick mansion, used as a school, was in its place; and a fine
old house it must have been to go to school at, as I recollect it.

When I approached the Doctor's cottage--a pretty old place, on which
he seemed to have expended some money, if I might judge from the
embellishments and repairs that had the look of being just completed--I
saw him walking in the garden at the side, gaiters and all, as if he
had never left off walking since the days of my pupilage. He had his old
companions about him, too; for there were plenty of high trees in the
neighbourhood, and two or three rooks were on the grass, looking after
him, as if they had been written to about him by the Canterbury rooks,
and were observing him closely in consequence.

Knowing the utter hopelessness of attracting his attention from that
distance, I made bold to open the gate, and walk after him, so as to
meet him when he should turn round. When he did, and came towards me, he
looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, evidently without thinking
about me at all; and then his benevolent face expressed extraordinary
pleasure, and he took me by both hands.

'Why, my dear Copperfield,' said the Doctor, 'you are a man! How do you
do? I am delighted to see you. My dear Copperfield, how very much you
have improved! You are quite--yes--dear me!'

I hoped he was well, and Mrs. Strong too.

'Oh dear, yes!' said the Doctor; 'Annie's quite well, and she'll be
delighted to see you. You were always her favourite. She said so,
last night, when I showed her your letter. And--yes, to be sure--you
recollect Mr. Jack Maldon, Copperfield?'

'Perfectly, sir.'

'Of course,' said the Doctor. 'To be sure. He's pretty well, too.'

'Has he come home, sir?' I inquired.

'From India?' said the Doctor. 'Yes. Mr. Jack Maldon couldn't bear
the climate, my dear. Mrs. Markleham--you have not forgotten Mrs.
Markleham?'

Forgotten the Old Soldier! And in that short time!

'Mrs. Markleham,' said the Doctor, 'was quite vexed about him, poor
thing; so we have got him at home again; and we have bought him a little
Patent place, which agrees with him much better.' I knew enough of Mr.
Jack Maldon to suspect from this account that it was a place where there
was not much to do, and which was pretty well paid. The Doctor, walking
up and down with his hand on my shoulder, and his kind face turned
encouragingly to mine, went on:

'Now, my dear Copperfield, in reference to this proposal of yours. It's
very gratifying and agreeable to me, I am sure; but don't you think you
could do better? You achieved distinction, you know, when you were with
us. You are qualified for many good things. You have laid a foundation
that any edifice may be raised upon; and is it not a pity that you
should devote the spring-time of your life to such a poor pursuit as I
can offer?'

I became very glowing again, and, expressing myself in a rhapsodical
style, I am afraid, urged my request strongly; reminding the Doctor that
I had already a profession.

'Well, well,' said the Doctor, 'that's true. Certainly, your having
a profession, and being actually engaged in studying it, makes a
difference. But, my good young friend, what's seventy pounds a year?'

'It doubles our income, Doctor Strong,' said I.

'Dear me!' replied the Doctor. 'To think of that! Not that I mean to
say it's rigidly limited to seventy pounds a-year, because I have always
contemplated making any young friend I might thus employ, a present too.
Undoubtedly,' said the Doctor, still walking me up and down with
his hand on my shoulder. 'I have always taken an annual present into
account.'

'My dear tutor,' said I (now, really, without any nonsense), 'to whom I
owe more obligations already than I ever can acknowledge--'

'No, no,' interposed the Doctor. 'Pardon me!'

'If you will take such time as I have, and that is my mornings and
evenings, and can think it worth seventy pounds a year, you will do me
such a service as I cannot express.'

'Dear me!' said the Doctor, innocently. 'To think that so little should
go for so much! Dear, dear! And when you can do better, you will? On
your word, now?' said the Doctor,--which he had always made a very grave
appeal to the honour of us boys.

'On my word, sir!' I returned, answering in our old school manner.

'Then be it so,' said the Doctor, clapping me on the shoulder, and still
keeping his hand there, as we still walked up and down.

'And I shall be twenty times happier, sir,' said I, with a little--I
hope innocent--flattery, 'if my employment is to be on the Dictionary.'

The Doctor stopped, smilingly clapped me on the shoulder again, and
exclaimed, with a triumph most delightful to behold, as if I had
penetrated to the profoundest depths of mortal sagacity, 'My dear young
friend, you have hit it. It IS the Dictionary!'

How could it be anything else! His pockets were as full of it as his
head. It was sticking out of him in all directions. He told me that
since his retirement from scholastic life, he had been advancing with
it wonderfully; and that nothing could suit him better than the proposed
arrangements for morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk
about in the daytime with his considering cap on. His papers were in
a little confusion, in consequence of Mr. Jack Maldon having lately
proffered his occasional services as an amanuensis, and not being
accustomed to that occupation; but we should soon put right what was
amiss, and go on swimmingly. Afterwards, when we were fairly at our
work, I found Mr. Jack Maldon's efforts more troublesome to me than
I had expected, as he had not confined himself to making numerous
mistakes, but had sketched so many soldiers, and ladies' heads, over
the Doctor's manuscript, that I often became involved in labyrinths of
obscurity.

The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to work together
on that wonderful performance, and we settled to begin next morning at
seven o'clock. We were to work two hours every morning, and two or three
hours every night, except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays,
of course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy terms.

Our plans being thus arranged to our mutual satisfaction, the Doctor
took me into the house to present me to Mrs. Strong, whom we found in
the Doctor's new study, dusting his books,--a freedom which he never
permitted anybody else to take with those sacred favourites.

They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we sat down to
table together. We had not been seated long, when I saw an approaching
arrival in Mrs. Strong's face, before I heard any sound of it. A
gentleman on horseback came to the gate, and leading his horse into the
little court, with the bridle over his arm, as if he were quite at home,
tied him to a ring in the empty coach-house wall, and came into the
breakfast parlour, whip in hand. It was Mr. Jack Maldon; and Mr. Jack
Maldon was not at all improved by India, I thought. I was in a state
of ferocious virtue, however, as to young men who were not cutting down
trees in the forest of difficulty; and my impression must be received
with due allowance.

'Mr. Jack!' said the Doctor. 'Copperfield!'

Mr. Jack Maldon shook hands with me; but not very warmly, I believed;
and with an air of languid patronage, at which I secretly took great
umbrage. But his languor altogether was quite a wonderful sight; except
when he addressed himself to his cousin Annie. 'Have you breakfasted
this morning, Mr. Jack?' said the Doctor.

'I hardly ever take breakfast, sir,' he replied, with his head thrown
back in an easy-chair. 'I find it bores me.'

'Is there any news today?' inquired the Doctor.

'Nothing at all, sir,' replied Mr. Maldon. 'There's an account about
the people being hungry and discontented down in the North, but they are
always being hungry and discontented somewhere.'

The Doctor looked grave, and said, as though he wished to change the
subject, 'Then there's no news at all; and no news, they say, is good
news.'

'There's a long statement in the papers, sir, about a murder,' observed
Mr. Maldon. 'But somebody is always being murdered, and I didn't read
it.'

A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of mankind was
not supposed to be such a distinguished quality at that time, I think,
as I have observed it to be considered since. I have known it very
fashionable indeed. I have seen it displayed with such success, that I
have encountered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have
been born caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because
it was new to me, but it certainly did not tend to exalt my opinion of,
or to strengthen my confidence in, Mr. Jack Maldon.

'I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera
tonight,' said Mr. Maldon, turning to her. 'It's the last good night
there will be, this season; and there's a singer there, whom she really
ought to hear. She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which, she is so
charmingly ugly,' relapsing into languor.

The Doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his young wife,
turned to her and said:

'You must go, Annie. You must go.'

'I would rather not,' she said to the Doctor. 'I prefer to remain at
home. I would much rather remain at home.'

Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me, and asked me about
Agnes, and whether she should see her, and whether she was not likely to
come that day; and was so much disturbed, that I wondered how even the
Doctor, buttering his toast, could be blind to what was so obvious.

But he saw nothing. He told her, good-naturedly, that she was young and
ought to be amused and entertained, and must not allow herself to be
made dull by a dull old fellow. Moreover, he said, he wanted to hear her
sing all the new singer's songs to him; and how could she do that well,
unless she went? So the Doctor persisted in making the engagement for
her, and Mr. Jack Maldon was to come back to dinner. This concluded, he
went to his Patent place, I suppose; but at all events went away on his
horse, looking very idle.

I was curious to find out next morning, whether she had been. She had
not, but had sent into London to put her cousin off; and had gone out in
the afternoon to see Agnes, and had prevailed upon the Doctor to go with
her; and they had walked home by the fields, the Doctor told me, the
evening being delightful. I wondered then, whether she would have gone
if Agnes had not been in town, and whether Agnes had some good influence
over her too!

She did not look very happy, I thought; but it was a good face, or a
very false one. I often glanced at it, for she sat in the window all the
time we were at work; and made our breakfast, which we took by snatches
as we were employed. When I left, at nine o'clock, she was kneeling on
the ground at the Doctor's feet, putting on his shoes and gaiters for
him. There was a softened shade upon her face, thrown from some green
leaves overhanging the open window of the low room; and I thought all
the way to Doctors' Commons, of the night when I had seen it looking at
him as he read.

I was pretty busy now; up at five in the morning, and home at nine
or ten at night. But I had infinite satisfaction in being so
closely engaged, and never walked slowly on any account, and felt
enthusiastically that the more I tired myself, the more I was doing to
deserve Dora. I had not revealed myself in my altered character to
Dora yet, because she was coming to see Miss Mills in a few days, and
I deferred all I had to tell her until then; merely informing her in
my letters (all our communications were secretly forwarded through Miss
Mills), that I had much to tell her. In the meantime, I put myself on
a short allowance of bear's grease, wholly abandoned scented soap and
lavender water, and sold off three waistcoats at a prodigious sacrifice,
as being too luxurious for my stern career.

Not satisfied with all these proceedings, but burning with impatience
to do something more, I went to see Traddles, now lodging up behind the
parapet of a house in Castle Street, Holborn. Mr. Dick, who had been
with me to Highgate twice already, and had resumed his companionship
with the Doctor, I took with me.

I took Mr. Dick with me, because, acutely sensitive to my aunt's
reverses, and sincerely believing that no galley-slave or convict worked
as I did, he had begun to fret and worry himself out of spirits and
appetite, as having nothing useful to do. In this condition, he felt
more incapable of finishing the Memorial than ever; and the harder he
worked at it, the oftener that unlucky head of King Charles the First
got into it. Seriously apprehending that his malady would increase,
unless we put some innocent deception upon him and caused him to believe
that he was useful, or unless we could put him in the way of being
really useful (which would be better), I made up my mind to try
if Traddles could help us. Before we went, I wrote Traddles a full
statement of all that had happened, and Traddles wrote me back a capital
answer, expressive of his sympathy and friendship.

We found him hard at work with his inkstand and papers, refreshed by the
sight of the flower-pot stand and the little round table in a corner of
the small apartment. He received us cordially, and made friends with
Mr. Dick in a moment. Mr. Dick professed an absolute certainty of having
seen him before, and we both said, 'Very likely.'

The first subject on which I had to consult Traddles was this,--I had
heard that many men distinguished in various pursuits had begun life
by reporting the debates in Parliament. Traddles having mentioned
newspapers to me, as one of his hopes, I had put the two things
together, and told Traddles in my letter that I wished to know how I
could qualify myself for this pursuit. Traddles now informed me, as the
result of his inquiries, that the mere mechanical acquisition necessary,
except in rare cases, for thorough excellence in it, that is to say,
a perfect and entire command of the mystery of short-hand writing and
reading, was about equal in difficulty to the mastery of six languages;
and that it might perhaps be attained, by dint of perseverance, in the
course of a few years. Traddles reasonably supposed that this would
settle the business; but I, only feeling that here indeed were a few
tall trees to be hewn down, immediately resolved to work my way on to
Dora through this thicket, axe in hand.

'I am very much obliged to you, my dear Traddles!' said I. 'I'll begin
tomorrow.'

Traddles looked astonished, as he well might; but he had no notion as
yet of my rapturous condition.

'I'll buy a book,' said I, 'with a good scheme of this art in it; I'll
work at it at the Commons, where I haven't half enough to do; I'll take
down the speeches in our court for practice--Traddles, my dear fellow,
I'll master it!'

'Dear me,' said Traddles, opening his eyes, 'I had no idea you were such
a determined character, Copperfield!'

I don't know how he should have had, for it was new enough to me. I
passed that off, and brought Mr. Dick on the carpet.

'You see,' said Mr. Dick, wistfully, 'if I could exert myself, Mr.
Traddles--if I could beat a drum--or blow anything!'

Poor fellow! I have little doubt he would have preferred such an
employment in his heart to all others. Traddles, who would not have
smiled for the world, replied composedly:

'But you are a very good penman, sir. You told me so, Copperfield?'
'Excellent!' said I. And indeed he was. He wrote with extraordinary
neatness.

'Don't you think,' said Traddles, 'you could copy writings, sir, if I
got them for you?'

Mr. Dick looked doubtfully at me. 'Eh, Trotwood?'

I shook my head. Mr. Dick shook his, and sighed. 'Tell him about the
Memorial,' said Mr. Dick.

I explained to Traddles that there was a difficulty in keeping King
Charles the First out of Mr. Dick's manuscripts; Mr. Dick in the
meanwhile looking very deferentially and seriously at Traddles, and
sucking his thumb.

'But these writings, you know, that I speak of, are already drawn up
and finished,' said Traddles after a little consideration. 'Mr. Dick has
nothing to do with them. Wouldn't that make a difference, Copperfield?
At all events, wouldn't it be well to try?'

This gave us new hope. Traddles and I laying our heads together apart,
while Mr. Dick anxiously watched us from his chair, we concocted a
scheme in virtue of which we got him to work next day, with triumphant
success.

On a table by the window in Buckingham Street, we set out the work
Traddles procured for him--which was to make, I forget how many copies
of a legal document about some right of way--and on another table
we spread the last unfinished original of the great Memorial. Our
instructions to Mr. Dick were that he should copy exactly what he had
before him, without the least departure from the original; and that when
he felt it necessary to make the slightest allusion to King Charles the
First, he should fly to the Memorial. We exhorted him to be resolute
in this, and left my aunt to observe him. My aunt reported to us,
afterwards, that, at first, he was like a man playing the kettle-drums,
and constantly divided his attentions between the two; but that, finding
this confuse and fatigue him, and having his copy there, plainly before
his eyes, he soon sat at it in an orderly business-like manner, and
postponed the Memorial to a more convenient time. In a word, although we
took great care that he should have no more to do than was good for him,
and although he did not begin with the beginning of a week, he earned
by the following Saturday night ten shillings and nine-pence; and never,
while I live, shall I forget his going about to all the shops in the
neighbourhood to change this treasure into sixpences, or his bringing
them to my aunt arranged in the form of a heart upon a waiter, with
tears of joy and pride in his eyes. He was like one under the propitious
influence of a charm, from the moment of his being usefully employed;
and if there were a happy man in the world, that Saturday night, it was
the grateful creature who thought my aunt the most wonderful woman in
existence, and me the most wonderful young man.

'No starving now, Trotwood,' said Mr. Dick, shaking hands with me in a
corner. 'I'll provide for her, Sir!' and he flourished his ten fingers
in the air, as if they were ten banks.

I hardly know which was the better pleased, Traddles or I. 'It really,'
said Traddles, suddenly, taking a letter out of his pocket, and giving
it to me, 'put Mr. Micawber quite out of my head!'

The letter (Mr. Micawber never missed any possible opportunity of
writing a letter) was addressed to me, 'By the kindness of T. Traddles,
Esquire, of the Inner Temple.' It ran thus:--

'MY DEAR COPPERFIELD,

'You may possibly not be unprepared to receive the intimation that
something has turned up. I may have mentioned to you on a former
occasion that I was in expectation of such an event.

'I am about to establish myself in one of the provincial towns of our
favoured island (where the society may be described as a happy admixture
of the agricultural and the clerical), in immediate connexion with
one of the learned professions. Mrs. Micawber and our offspring will
accompany me. Our ashes, at a future period, will probably be found
commingled in the cemetery attached to a venerable pile, for which the
spot to which I refer has acquired a reputation, shall I say from China
to Peru?

'In bidding adieu to the modern Babylon, where we have undergone many
vicissitudes, I trust not ignobly, Mrs. Micawber and myself cannot
disguise from our minds that we part, it may be for years and it may be
for ever, with an individual linked by strong associations to the altar
of our domestic life. If, on the eve of such a departure, you will
accompany our mutual friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, to our present abode,
and there reciprocate the wishes natural to the occasion, you will
confer a Boon

               'On
                    'One
                         'Who
                              'Is
                                   'Ever yours,
                                        'WILKINS MICAWBER.'

I was glad to find that Mr. Micawber had got rid of his dust and ashes,
and that something really had turned up at last. Learning from Traddles
that the invitation referred to the evening then wearing away, I
expressed my readiness to do honour to it; and we went off together to
the lodging which Mr. Micawber occupied as Mr. Mortimer, and which was
situated near the top of the Gray's Inn Road.

The resources of this lodging were so limited, that we found the twins,
now some eight or nine years old, reposing in a turn-up bedstead in
the family sitting-room, where Mr. Micawber had prepared, in a
wash-hand-stand jug, what he called 'a Brew' of the agreeable beverage
for which he was famous. I had the pleasure, on this occasion, of
renewing the acquaintance of Master Micawber, whom I found a promising
boy of about twelve or thirteen, very subject to that restlessness of
limb which is not an unfrequent phenomenon in youths of his age. I also
became once more known to his sister, Miss Micawber, in whom, as Mr.
Micawber told us, 'her mother renewed her youth, like the Phoenix'.

'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'yourself and Mr. Traddles
find us on the brink of migration, and will excuse any little
discomforts incidental to that position.'

Glancing round as I made a suitable reply, I observed that the family
effects were already packed, and that the amount of luggage was by no
means overwhelming. I congratulated Mrs. Micawber on the approaching
change.

'My dear Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'of your friendly
interest in all our affairs, I am well assured. My family may consider
it banishment, if they please; but I am a wife and mother, and I never
will desert Mr. Micawber.'

Traddles, appealed to by Mrs. Micawber's eye, feelingly acquiesced.

'That,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'that, at least, is my view, my dear Mr.
Copperfield and Mr. Traddles, of the obligation which I took upon myself
when I repeated the irrevocable words, "I, Emma, take thee, Wilkins." I
read the service over with a flat-candle on the previous night, and
the conclusion I derived from it was, that I never could desert Mr.
Micawber. And,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'though it is possible I may be
mistaken in my view of the ceremony, I never will!'

'My dear,' said Mr. Micawber, a little impatiently, 'I am not conscious
that you are expected to do anything of the sort.'

'I am aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' pursued Mrs. Micawber, 'that I am
now about to cast my lot among strangers; and I am also aware that the
various members of my family, to whom Mr. Micawber has written in the
most gentlemanly terms, announcing that fact, have not taken the least
notice of Mr. Micawber's communication. Indeed I may be superstitious,'
said Mrs. Micawber, 'but it appears to me that Mr. Micawber is destined
never to receive any answers whatever to the great majority of the
communications he writes. I may augur, from the silence of my family,
that they object to the resolution I have taken; but I should not allow
myself to be swerved from the path of duty, Mr. Copperfield, even by my
papa and mama, were they still living.'

I expressed my opinion that this was going in the right direction. 'It
may be a sacrifice,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'to immure one's-self in a
Cathedral town; but surely, Mr. Copperfield, if it is a sacrifice in me,
it is much more a sacrifice in a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities.'

'Oh! You are going to a Cathedral town?' said I.

Mr. Micawber, who had been helping us all, out of the wash-hand-stand
jug, replied:

'To Canterbury. In fact, my dear Copperfield, I have entered into
arrangements, by virtue of which I stand pledged and contracted to our
friend Heep, to assist and serve him in the capacity of--and to be--his
confidential clerk.'

I stared at Mr. Micawber, who greatly enjoyed my surprise.

'I am bound to state to you,' he said, with an official air, 'that the
business habits, and the prudent suggestions, of Mrs. Micawber, have
in a great measure conduced to this result. The gauntlet, to which Mrs.
Micawber referred upon a former occasion, being thrown down in the form
of an advertisement, was taken up by my friend Heep, and led to a mutual
recognition. Of my friend Heep,' said Mr. Micawber, 'who is a man of
remarkable shrewdness, I desire to speak with all possible respect.
My friend Heep has not fixed the positive remuneration at too high a
figure, but he has made a great deal, in the way of extrication from
the pressure of pecuniary difficulties, contingent on the value of
my services; and on the value of those services I pin my faith. Such
address and intelligence as I chance to possess,' said Mr. Micawber,
boastfully disparaging himself, with the old genteel air, 'will be
devoted to my friend Heep's service. I have already some acquaintance
with the law--as a defendant on civil process--and I shall immediately
apply myself to the Commentaries of one of the most eminent and
remarkable of our English jurists. I believe it is unnecessary to add
that I allude to Mr. justice Blackstone.'

These observations, and indeed the greater part of the observations
made that evening, were interrupted by Mrs. Micawber's discovering that
Master Micawber was sitting on his boots, or holding his head on with
both arms as if he felt it loose, or accidentally kicking Traddles under
the table, or shuffling his feet over one another, or producing them
at distances from himself apparently outrageous to nature, or lying
sideways with his hair among the wine-glasses, or developing his
restlessness of limb in some other form incompatible with the general
interests of society; and by Master Micawber's receiving those
discoveries in a resentful spirit. I sat all the while, amazed by Mr.
Micawber's disclosure, and wondering what it meant; until Mrs. Micawber
resumed the thread of the discourse, and claimed my attention.

'What I particularly request Mr. Micawber to be careful of, is,' said
Mrs. Micawber, 'that he does not, my dear Mr. Copperfield, in applying
himself to this subordinate branch of the law, place it out of his power
to rise, ultimately, to the top of the tree. I am convinced that Mr.
Micawber, giving his mind to a profession so adapted to his fertile
resources, and his flow of language, must distinguish himself. Now, for
example, Mr. Traddles,' said Mrs. Micawber, assuming a profound air, 'a
judge, or even say a Chancellor. Does an individual place himself beyond
the pale of those preferments by entering on such an office as Mr.
Micawber has accepted?'

'My dear,' observed Mr. Micawber--but glancing inquisitively at
Traddles, too; 'we have time enough before us, for the consideration of
those questions.'

'Micawber,' she returned, 'no! Your mistake in life is, that you do not
look forward far enough. You are bound, in justice to your family, if
not to yourself, to take in at a comprehensive glance the extremest
point in the horizon to which your abilities may lead you.'

Mr. Micawber coughed, and drank his punch with an air of exceeding
satisfaction--still glancing at Traddles, as if he desired to have his
opinion.

'Why, the plain state of the case, Mrs. Micawber,' said Traddles, mildly
breaking the truth to her. 'I mean the real prosaic fact, you know--'

'Just so,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'my dear Mr. Traddles, I wish to be as
prosaic and literal as possible on a subject of so much importance.'

'--Is,' said Traddles, 'that this branch of the law, even if Mr.
Micawber were a regular solicitor--'

'Exactly so,' returned Mrs. Micawber. ('Wilkins, you are squinting, and
will not be able to get your eyes back.')

'--Has nothing,' pursued Traddles, 'to do with that. Only a barrister
is eligible for such preferments; and Mr. Micawber could not be a
barrister, without being entered at an inn of court as a student, for
five years.'

'Do I follow you?' said Mrs. Micawber, with her most affable air
of business. 'Do I understand, my dear Mr. Traddles, that, at the
expiration of that period, Mr. Micawber would be eligible as a Judge or
Chancellor?'

'He would be ELIGIBLE,' returned Traddles, with a strong emphasis on
that word.

'Thank you,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'That is quite sufficient. If such is
the case, and Mr. Micawber forfeits no privilege by entering on these
duties, my anxiety is set at rest. I speak,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'as a
female, necessarily; but I have always been of opinion that Mr. Micawber
possesses what I have heard my papa call, when I lived at home, the
judicial mind; and I hope Mr. Micawber is now entering on a field where
that mind will develop itself, and take a commanding station.'

I quite believe that Mr. Micawber saw himself, in his judicial mind's
eye, on the woolsack. He passed his hand complacently over his bald
head, and said with ostentatious resignation:

'My dear, we will not anticipate the decrees of fortune. If I am
reserved to wear a wig, I am at least prepared, externally,' in allusion
to his baldness, 'for that distinction. I do not,' said Mr. Micawber,
'regret my hair, and I may have been deprived of it for a specific
purpose. I cannot say. It is my intention, my dear Copperfield, to
educate my son for the Church; I will not deny that I should be happy,
on his account, to attain to eminence.'

'For the Church?' said I, still pondering, between whiles, on Uriah
Heep.

'Yes,' said Mr. Micawber. 'He has a remarkable head-voice, and will
commence as a chorister. Our residence at Canterbury, and our local
connexion, will, no doubt, enable him to take advantage of any vacancy
that may arise in the Cathedral corps.'

On looking at Master Micawber again, I saw that he had a certain
expression of face, as if his voice were behind his eyebrows; where it
presently appeared to be, on his singing us (as an alternative between
that and bed) 'The Wood-Pecker tapping'. After many compliments on this
performance, we fell into some general conversation; and as I was too
full of my desperate intentions to keep my altered circumstances to
myself, I made them known to Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. I cannot express how
extremely delighted they both were, by the idea of my aunt's being in
difficulties; and how comfortable and friendly it made them.

When we were nearly come to the last round of the punch, I addressed
myself to Traddles, and reminded him that we must not separate, without
wishing our friends health, happiness, and success in their new career.
I begged Mr. Micawber to fill us bumpers, and proposed the toast in
due form: shaking hands with him across the table, and kissing Mrs.
Micawber, to commemorate that eventful occasion. Traddles imitated me
in the first particular, but did not consider himself a sufficiently old
friend to venture on the second.

'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, rising with one of his thumbs
in each of his waistcoat pockets, 'the companion of my youth: if I may
be allowed the expression--and my esteemed friend Traddles: if I may be
permitted to call him so--will allow me, on the part of Mrs. Micawber,
myself, and our offspring, to thank them in the warmest and most
uncompromising terms for their good wishes. It may be expected that
on the eve of a migration which will consign us to a perfectly new
existence,' Mr. Micawber spoke as if they were going five hundred
thousand miles, 'I should offer a few valedictory remarks to two such
friends as I see before me. But all that I have to say in this way, I
have said. Whatever station in society I may attain, through the medium
of the learned profession of which I am about to become an unworthy
member, I shall endeavour not to disgrace, and Mrs. Micawber will be
safe to adorn. Under the temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities,
contracted with a view to their immediate liquidation, but remaining
unliquidated through a combination of circumstances, I have been
under the necessity of assuming a garb from which my natural instincts
recoil--I allude to spectacles--and possessing myself of a cognomen, to
which I can establish no legitimate pretensions. All I have to say on
that score is, that the cloud has passed from the dreary scene, and the
God of Day is once more high upon the mountain tops. On Monday next, on
the arrival of the four o'clock afternoon coach at Canterbury, my foot
will be on my native heath--my name, Micawber!'

Mr. Micawber resumed his seat on the close of these remarks, and
drank two glasses of punch in grave succession. He then said with much
solemnity:

'One thing more I have to do, before this separation is complete, and
that is to perform an act of justice. My friend Mr. Thomas Traddles
has, on two several occasions, "put his name", if I may use a common
expression, to bills of exchange for my accommodation. On the first
occasion Mr. Thomas Traddles was left--let me say, in short, in the
lurch. The fulfilment of the second has not yet arrived. The amount of
the first obligation,' here Mr. Micawber carefully referred to papers,
'was, I believe, twenty-three, four, nine and a half, of the second,
according to my entry of that transaction, eighteen, six, two. These
sums, united, make a total, if my calculation is correct, amounting to
forty-one, ten, eleven and a half. My friend Copperfield will perhaps do
me the favour to check that total?'

I did so and found it correct.

'To leave this metropolis,' said Mr. Micawber, 'and my friend Mr.
Thomas Traddles, without acquitting myself of the pecuniary part of this
obligation, would weigh upon my mind to an insupportable extent. I have,
therefore, prepared for my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles, and I now hold
in my hand, a document, which accomplishes the desired object. I beg
to hand to my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles my I.O.U. for forty-one, ten,
eleven and a half, and I am happy to recover my moral dignity, and to
know that I can once more walk erect before my fellow man!'

With this introduction (which greatly affected him), Mr. Micawber placed
his I.O.U. in the hands of Traddles, and said he wished him well in
every relation of life. I am persuaded, not only that this was quite
the same to Mr. Micawber as paying the money, but that Traddles himself
hardly knew the difference until he had had time to think about it. Mr.
Micawber walked so erect before his fellow man, on the strength of
this virtuous action, that his chest looked half as broad again when he
lighted us downstairs. We parted with great heartiness on both sides;
and when I had seen Traddles to his own door, and was going home alone,
I thought, among the other odd and contradictory things I mused upon,
that, slippery as Mr. Micawber was, I was probably indebted to some
compassionate recollection he retained of me as his boy-lodger, for
never having been asked by him for money. I certainly should not have
had the moral courage to refuse it; and I have no doubt he knew that (to
his credit be it written), quite as well as I did.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Enthusiasm. Feeling strengthened after his meeting with Agnes, David is determined to triumph over adversity and to win Dora. He calls on Dr. Strong. Dr. Strong tells David that Jack Maldon is back from India, as he could not stand the climate, and has been found a job in the patents office. Dr. Strong agrees that David should be his secretary, and says that he will help him compile his dictionary. Jack Maldon arrives. He invites Annie to the opera that night. Annie says she would rather stay at home, but Dr. Strong insists that she go. Next morning, David learns that Annie made her excuses to Jack Maldon and took Dr. Strong to see Agnes instead. David still suspects that Annie is having an affair with Jack Maldon. David takes Mr. Dick to see Traddles, in the hope of coming up with ideas for paid employment for Mr. Dick. David finds out from Traddles that it is possible to earn money by reporting Parliamentary debates in newspapers, but that a knowledge of shorthand is needed. David resolves to learn shorthand. Traddles suggests that Mr. Dick could earn money by copying legal documents, if he can only keep King Charles I out of his manuscripts. Mr. Dick begins to do this job, and successfully. Traddles gives David a letter from Mr. Micawber. Mr. Micawber writes that "something has turned up": he has found a job in a provincial town. He invites David and Traddles to visit him to say goodbye. David and Traddles arrive at Mr. Micawber's and learn that Mr. Micawber is going to Canterbury to work as Uriah Heep's clerk. Mr. Micawber owes Traddles money, and gives him an I. O. U. with the satisfied air of someone who is settling a debt with real money