′Well,′ said Mr Dombey, after looking at him attentively, and with no great favour, as he stood gazing round the room (principally round the ceiling) and still drawing his hand across and across his mouth. ′You heard what I said to your wife just now?′
′Polly heerd it,′ said Toodle, jerking his hat over his shoulder in the direction of the door, with an air of perfect confidence in his better half. ′It′s all right.′
′But I ask you if you heard it. You did, I suppose, and understood it?′ pursued Mr Dombey.
′I heerd it,′ said Toodle, ′but I don′t know as I understood it rightly Sir, ′account of being no scholar, and the words being - ask your pardon - rayther high. But Polly heerd it. It′s all right.′
′As you appear to leave everything to her,′ said Mr Dombey, frustrated in his intention of impressing his views still more distinctly on the husband, as the stronger character, ′I suppose it is of no use my saying anything to you.′
′Not a bit,′ said Toodle. ′Polly heerd it. She′s awake, Sir.′
′I won′t detain you any longer then,′ returned Mr Dombey, disappointed. ′Where have you worked all your life?′
′Mostly underground, Sir, ′till I got married. I come to the level then. I′m a going on one of these here railroads when they comes into full play.′
As he added in one of his hoarse whispers, ′We means to bring up little Biler to that line,′ Mr Dombey inquired haughtily who little Biler was.
′The eldest on ′em, Sir,′ said Toodle, with a smile. ′It ain′t a common name. Sermuchser that when he was took to church the gen′lm′n said, it wam′t a chris′en one, and he couldn′t give it. But we always calls him Biler just the same. For we don′t mean no harm. Not we.
′Do you mean to say, Man,′ inquired Mr Dombey; looking at him with marked displeasure, ′that you have called a child after a boiler?′
′No, no, Sir,′ returned Toodle, with a tender consideration for his mistake. ′I should hope not! No, Sir. Arter a BILER Sir. The Steamingine was a′most as good as a godfather to him, and so we called him Biler, don′t you see!′
As the last straw breaks the laden camel′s back, this piece of information crushed the sinking spirits of Mr Dombey. He motioned his child′s foster-father to the door, who departed by no means unwillingly: and then turning the key, paced up and down the room in solitary wretchedness.
It would be harsh, and perhaps not altogether true, to say of him that he felt these rubs and gratings against his pride more keenly than he had felt his wife′s death: but certainly they impressed that event upon him with new force, and communicated to it added weight and bitterness. It was a rude shock to his sense of property in his child, that these people - the mere dust of the earth, as he thought them - should be necessary to him; and it was natural that in proportion as he felt disturbed by it, he should deplore the occurrence which had made them so. For all his starched, impenetrable dignity and composure, he wiped blinding tears from his eyes as he paced up and down his room; and often said, with an emotion of which he would not, for the world, have had a witness, ′Poor little fellow!′
It may have been characteristic of Mr Dombey′s pride, that he pitied himself through the child. Not poor me.
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