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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hello everyone. Welcome back. I apologize if there might be a little bit of background noise in this intro. Not in the chapters. I recorded those before. But it is raining, but pretty hard right now. Out my window. I record up on the very top floor. So when it rains we definitely hear it up here. But I wanted to make sure that I recorded in time to get this episode out to you. So I'm doing my best to keep the background sounds to a minimum. But you may hear the rain. Apparently, you know, March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. So apparently lions rain a lot because it just started to rain couple moments ago and apparently it's going to keep raining for the entire week. So happy March and sorry if you could hear the rain. But anyway, I'm so glad that you're here. Rain or no, whatever the weather is like where you are, I hope that you are cozy and warm, at least in your imagination. And I'm so glad that you've joined me and that you're here. Last time was quite a long chapter, so I think I have kind of a lot to say about it. I got some great comments and questions, so let's not take too much time here at the very beginning because the chapter is, the chapter is kind of like a medium sized chapter, so it's not, it's not going to be too long. But I do have a lot to say, so just please make sure that you're subscribed. Please tap the five stars if you haven't done it already. If you have done it already, you don't need to do it again. I think it only works once. But if you haven't tapped the five stars and you are enjoying this show, I would greatly appreciate it if you would just do that in your podcast player. And if you have a couple of extra seconds and you're enjoying the show, please leave a positive review. It works in some sort of magical, I don't know, alchemical reaction or something inside your podcast player that you tap the five stars and leave a review. If enough of you do that, then the podcast starts to magically appear in other people's podcast players as one of the suggestions. So it'll say, oh, you like this? Maybe you would like story time for grown ups and maybe they would. So if you could please do those things and subscribe, that would be really, really helpful and it helps to support the show. If you're interested in supporting the show in other ways, you can scroll into the show notes. There is a link there to our online community which is called the Drawing Room, and there's also a link there to our tip jar if you'd like to make a financial donation. But of you are not obligated to do any of those things. You are supporting the show simply by listening to it. And I am so, so glad that you're here. Okay, so last time we read chapter 16, today we're going to be reading chapter 17. So let's begin by just reminding ourselves what happened last time. There was a lot. So here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off. David begins his schooling at Dr. Strong's academy. And while he is at first sort of shy and worried that the boys won't like him because he's been a laborer and homeless and all of this, he ultimately settles in and he really actually likes it there. He also really likes living with Mr. Wickfield and Agnes, and Mr. Wickfield invites him to stay on and live with him as long as he's at school, and he's very happy to do that. Dr. Strong is a kind and sort of absent minded man who will give his money away to anyone who asks for it. He's married to a much younger woman who seems to have married him for his money, although she's also very fond of him. David has a little chat with Uriah Heep, who is very slimy and kind of overly deferential. He is studying to be a lawyer and while he says he doesn't want to be become a partner in Mr. Wickfield's practice, it seems like maybe he does. David befriends Mrs. Strong and we can see, though David can't, that Mrs. Strong is in love with her cousin Mr. Malden, and Mr. Wickfield is trying to get Mr. Malden sent abroad to help Dr. Strong because Dr. Strong won't think ill of anyone and he doesn't see that his wife is in love with someone else. Eventually Mr. Malden gets sent to India and they have a party to say goodbye. At the party we meet Mrs. Strong's mother, who the boys at the school call the old soldier because she's always trying to rally Dr. Strong to give financial assistance to some family member or other during the party. It's very clear that Mrs. Strong and Mr. Malden are devastated to be leaving each other and once Mr. Malden leaves, Mrs. Strong faints and it's clear that she has given him the ribbon from the bosom of her dress. When David goes back to Dr. Strong's house to get Agnes's bag, he finds Dr. And Mrs. Strong together and Mrs. Strong is clearly trying to extend accept that she is Dr. Strong's wife and she has to be loyal to him. All right, I'm going to read four comments and questions today. The first one comes from our online community which is called the Drawing Room and this person goes by the handle arymm. She says, a lot going on in this chapter, David feeling like an imposter, the old soldier emotionally manipulating her daughter and taking advantage of a kind older man, and Uriah Heep performing his umble shtick. The next one comes from Corinthia. She says, although I am concerned about Mr. Wickfield's drinking, he still proves to be a fundamentally good man at heart. He warmly welcomes David into his home, offers him wise and steady guidance, and vigilantly shields the Honorable Dr. Strong from his scheming cousin in law who seems intent on stealing the Doctor's young wife. This next one comes also from our online community. This person goes by the handle avocjack. He says, Was Annie actually cheating with Jack or was Jack merely angling for that? She certainly holds a strong affection for him, but she didn't jump on the boat with him, nor did she turn down the Doctor in the first place. But if I'm understanding the mix of emotions she suffered in the final scene of the chapter, she was halfway to doing so. And the last one comes from Kali Ball. Callie wrote me a really lovely, very long letter and I'm kind of condensing it here because I couldn't include it all, but I did want to read some of it to you. She says, it is so simple satisfying to see Davy finally surrounded by some stability and good character in his life. And you're right, it's all the more satisfying, specifically because of the horrible things he's been through. I couldn't help thinking about all of these new characters directly in relation to some of those old characters. Though she can never replace the mama of his youth who did love him very dearly, his adoptive mother, Aunt Betsy is much more capable of protecting him and caring for him the way a mother should. I Mean, you just know there will be skulls to crack if she hears of any mistreatment of Davy at his new lodgings or his new school. Mr. Wakefield is so different from the previous characters of Mr. Murdstone and Mr. Micawber. Dr. Strong is a far cry from Mr. Creakle at Salem House. The description of Dr. Strong's almost fatherly affection for his young wife at first reminded me of David Copperfield Sr. With David's mama. Can't wait for the next chapter. Thank you for everything you do. Thank you for writing in. And thank all of you for writing in and for listening. Okay, so, yes, as Mary says, there's a lot going on in this chapter. We met several new characters and we learned more about the new characters from last time. And I love Callie's point that many of the new characters that we're meeting sort of mirror the old characters, or they're like the good version of the bad characters. They fill similar roles, but instead of mistreating Davey or letting him down, they're kind to Devi and they're caring and they're protective. I think that's really astute, and I think it really speaks to what's happening now for Davey, which is that he's rebuilding the life that he was essentially meant to have. Or that perhaps he would have had, maybe had his father not died. And has his mother not married Mr. Murdstone. It's the life that he sort of had when his mother was alive and Mr. Murdstone sent him to Salem House. But of course, Salem House was not an ideal school, given how awful Mr. Creakle was. And it might have been good for his mother to remarry and for Davey to have a father figure. But obviously, Mr. Murdstone was not a good father figure. So again, it's like he's putting all those pieces back into place. The father figure, the school, the teacher, the friends, the mother figure. But he's putting them all back stronger and better in a way. So that's really wonderful to see and a really neat way to look at it, I think. Now, I definitely want to answer this question that havoc Jack poses about Dr. And Mrs. Strong and Jack Malden and what's going on there, because several of you had this same question. I think it's a question that we are meant to have at this point in the story. So I will get to that in a little bit. But first, I want to talk just for a moment about Davy and his relationship to the various new characters that we're getting in this chapter and the characters that appeared in the last chapter, chapter 16 as well. The first thing I want to point out, mostly just because I think it's really touching and because it's a lovely little detail that Dickens gives us. And Mary talks about it in her letter as well, it's the way in which Davey initially struggles to integrate himself into his new life as a schoolboy. You know, I just said that he's rebuilding the life that he ought to have had, the life that he has wanted all this time. But it's also true, and Dickens is so astute to include this, I think, but it's also true that. That Davey has had an experience that the rest of his new schoolmates can't even really imagine. Davey has lived the life of an adult, right? A poor adult who needed to scrimp and save to make ends meet. He's worked in a factory. He's been homeless. He's been beaten and mistreated and abandoned. He's seen the pretty sordid life of Mr. And Mrs. Macawber. And he has helped them to pawn their belongings to pay off their crack creditors. I mean, this is a far, far cry from the life of the scholars at Dr. Strong's academy, right? And there's a way in which Davey feels that it sets him apart from these other boys. Here's what he says. I was so conscious of having passed through scenes of which they could have no knowledge and of having acquired experiences foreign to my age, appearance and condition as one of them, that I half believed it was an imposture to come there as an ordinary little schoolboy. Which is telling, too. I think someone else might look at these little scholars and think, well, man, these kids don't know anything. I've seen things. I know things about the world. And they might hold themselves above these other kids, but to Davey, who is always modest and always sort of trusting and innocent to Davey, he worries that these exalted boys, these scholars, will look at him and feel that he doesn't belong among them. And he worries that they see or somehow see, sense this other life that he's led. This other boy he's been. Here's what he says. I felt distrustful of my slightest look and gesture, shrunk within myself whensoever I was approached by one of my new school fellows and hurried off the minute school was over, afraid of committing myself in my response to any friendly notice or advance. And I think Dickens is so clever to know that this might happen. I mean, I imagine that he knows from experience Right. He also went back to school. School after spending time working in a factory. So he's probably drawing on his own experience here. But a lesser writer would just have Davey jump right into the new situation, I think, because it's the thing he's always wanted. So hooray. Right. But life is not like that often. Often things that we've always wanted are also fraught when they come to pass. And that's what's happening for Davey here. His old life and his new life are kind of clashing, and it's going to take some time for him to integrate all that and to find. Find his footing here. But as Corinthia points out, Davy has in Mr. Wickfield a warm and wise guardian. And as Callie points out, Mr. Wickfield is sort of the antithesis of Mr. Murdstone or even Mr. Macawer, who were both male guardian figures, but who, in their own ways and to greater or lesser degrees, they both let Davey down. And Davey, who always gravitates toward love and family and companionship, Davy knows what he has at Mr. Wickfield's house. Here's what he says, says. But there was such an influence in Mr. Wickfield's old house that when I knocked at it with my new school books under my arm, I began to feel my uneasiness softening away. Okay, so Davey has found a home, essentially, and that's really, really important for him. He has a home with Miss Betsy, and he also has a home here with Mr. Wickfield and Agnes. And it seems like he's going to stay with them as long as he's at school, rather than just staying there temporarily, as they first agreed. So he's got a safe place, warm, welcoming place to live while he's at school, and a safe, warm, welcoming place to go back to on weekends and vacations and things. And I think it's really this that ultimately allows him to find his place among the other schoolboys and to settle in, as it says, that he eventually does. But I want to just touch again for a moment on Mr. Wickfield's alcoholism, or at least his alcohol consumption, his drinking, because I think that we got in the last chapter a little glimpse of. Into what might actually be going on with that. So in chapter 15, when we first met Mr. Wickfield, he told Miss Betsy that he had but one object in his life. And it turned out that that object was Agnes, his daughter. Which seems sort of nice, right? He's a single father. He has this one daughter. So Everything he does is for her great. But I think there's a way in which this sense of everything being for Agnes is almost too all consuming for Mr. Wickfield. I think the picture that we're getting is that Mr. Wickfield can't imagine doing the thing which all fathers, all parents eventually must do, which is to let his daughter go. Either because he will one day die, or because she will one day marry and leave to make her own household. Or. And this is a fear of every parent, I think, but. Or that she might die before him. Here's what he says. A dull old house and a monotonous life. But I must have her near me. I must keep her near me. If the thought that I may die and leave my darling, or that my darling may die and leave me comes like a specter to distress my happiest hours and is only to be drowned in. Right. And then he cuts off there. But he's clearly going to say in drink. So he's telling us that the reason that he drinks so much is because he's afraid of losing Agnes. And right after that he says, here's another quote. If it is miserable to bear when she is here, what would it be? And she away. No, no, no, I cann that meaning he can't let her go. But letting your child go is exactly what a parent must do. I mean, otherwise you condemn your child to never truly living. You don't allow them to marry or have children of their own or go out into the world or whatever it may be. You keep them a child forever for your own gratification. And that's not right. It's one of the beautiful tragedies of parenthood, I think, that you must love and raise and care for your children and then you must let them go. And Mr. Wakefield is struggling mightily with this idea and kind of losing. And that's why he drinks. And for her part, Agnes is the kind of person that you would feel really terrible to lose. I think last time we talked about the concept of the angel in the house, this Victorian kind of ideal woman, which Dickens seems to subscribe to. And in the last chapter we got more evidence of this. And it seems like Davy is kind of falling under Agnes's spell as well. He says, I love little Emily. And I don't love Agnes, no, not at all in that way. But I feel that there are goodness, peace and truth wherever Agnes is. And that the soft light of the colored window in the church, seen long ago, falls on her always and on me. When I am near her and on everything around. Okay, so there's that angel imagery again. And it's sort of like Agnes is beyond being a mere mortal woman who could be loved romantically in the way that Davey loves little Emily. So it's like she's too pure, too above everyone else for that sort of thing. So Davy doesn't love her romantically, but he sort of reveres her as a kind of household goddess or something like that. But Dickens also makes a point of showing us that Agnes is not just domestic, she is also intelligent. Here's what Davey says. And afterwards, when I brought down my books, looked into them, meaning Agnes looked into them and showed me what she knew of them, which was no slight matter, though she said it was, and what was the best way to learn and understand them. Okay, so she's also very smart, and she's a good teacher as well. So she is a very remarkable and wonderful little person. So it makes sense that Mr. Wickfield would find it hard to imagine letting her go, but he has to let her go eventually or risk turning her into, like, an old maid or something, which she clearly shouldn't be, since she has all the attributes of a wonderful Victorian wife and mother. So it's worth just noting that dynamic, because I think Dickens is pointing it out to us here. But I want to just touch on Uriah again for a minute, and then we'll get to this issue with Dr. Strong and his wife, and then we'll read the chapter. So I think it's fair to say that there's something not quite right about Uriah. Let's just put it this way, right, as Mary says, he goes on and on about how humble he is, meaning how humble. And he makes a kind of weird, ostentatious show of it. And there is something really kind of icky and weird about him. Like, he moves in this very odd way. Here's what Davey says, how he describes it. He had a way of writhing when he wanted to express enthusiasm, which was very ugly. And which diverted my attention from the compliment he had paid my relation to the snaky twistings of his throat and body. And, you know, he has this creepy smile. Here's what Davey says about that. I observed that he had not such a thing as a smile about him and that he could only widen his mouth and make two hard creases down his cheeks, one on each side to stand for one. Okay, so that's weird. And he's got weird nostrils, and he has a weird way of staring around all the time. And all of this is weird and kind of creepy and sort of off. But there's nothing so far to indicate that he's sinister or that he's trying to harm anyone in any way necessarily. But we do get a weird vibe from him. I think he gives us like the heebie jeebies and I think there are people like that in the world. And the question is, is this someone who's just sort of lacking in Social Security skills but is basically harmless or are our like spidey senses tingling because there's something actually wrong with this guy and he's dangerous in some way? We don't know yet. But we do, for whatever reason I think, feel a kind of revulsion for Uriah. And Davey feels a kind of revulsion for him too, even as he's also kind of interested in him and even as because he's Davey, even as he bears him no ill will and wants to like him. So we'll have to see what develops about Uriah, if anything does. But let's just end by answering Havoc Jack's question about what's going on with Mrs. Strong. So whether or not Annie Strong, Dr. Strong's wife, whether or not she's having an actual physical affair with Jack Malden, or whether they're just sort of flirting with each other or even in love with each other without acting on it, there is clearly something happening there. And Mr. Wakefield has clearly picked up on it, even though it turns out that Dr. Strong hasn't. So Dr. Strong, we learn, is a very generous, very trusting, very loving sort of absent minded professor type of person. And he has married this woman who is much, much younger than him. He's old enough to be her father or even potentially her grandfather, and he has married her for love. But she seems, at least in some way to have married him for money. She's got this mother who is clearly always trying to get Dr. Strong to help her various family members financially. And we learn that Annie had no money and no dowry or anything before this. So Dr. Strong fell in love with her. And it's not really clear what Annie's feelings were for him, although it seems like she didn't fall in love with him, although perhaps she respects him. There may be some evidence of that. So when Dr. Strong asked Mr. Wakefield to help him find some sort of job for Jack Malden, Dr. Strong was simply trying to be helpful helping a family member of Annie's because he loves helping people and giving his money away and everything. But Mr. Wickfield who is a much less trusting, much more worldly sort of person. So when Mr. Wakefield heard this request, he immediately assumed that Dr. Strong was trying to get rid of Jack because he suspected him of having feelings for annie. That's why Mr. Wakefield tries to get him out of the country instead of setting him up in some job that might be closer to home. And it clearly bothers Mr. Wickfield that this might be going on under Dr. Strong's nose without Dr. Strong having any inkling of it. And I think that's why he ends up sending Jack to India, even though Dr. Strong says that it would be fine to get him a job in England. Because even if Dr. Strong isn't worried about it, Mr. Wakefield clearly is. And here's what Mr. Wakefield tells Davey. He says there may be some, perhaps, I don't know, that there are, who abuse his kindness. Never be one of those Trotwood in anything. He is the least suspicious of mankind. And whether that's a merit or whether it's a blemish, it deserves consideration in all dealings with the doctor, great or small. Okay, so Mr. Wickfield is clearly trying to save his friend the doctor some trouble and some heartache by getting rid of Jack. And I think it's clear after the scene at the party, I think it's clear that Annie and Jack have some kind of romantic attachment to each other. The ribbon from the bosom of Annie's dress is missing. And when Jack is leaving in the carriage, Davey says, here's a quote. I had a lively impression made upon me in the midst of the noise and dust of having seen Mr. Jack Malden rattle past with an agitated face and something cherry colored in his hand. Okay, so it's clear that what has happened is that Annie has given Jack a token to remember her by when he's in India. This was a pretty common thing for people to do when they were courting. The woman might give the man a ribbon from her dress or her hat. I mean, the fact that it's from her bosom implies a sort of intimacy and an affection, because your bosom is where your heart is. So you might give your suitor a token if you want him to know that you're thinking of him. So that implies that Annie does have feelings for Jack. As does the fact that she's clearly very upset that he's going away and the fact that she faints after he actually does leave. But are they actually having an affair? Like a physical affair? Are they sleeping together? I think we are meant to wonder that, but to not know it at this point. I think it's clear that they have loved each other from childhood. Annie probably assumed that she would marry him and Jack may have assumed that as well. But then when Dr. Strong proposed and he's so much richer and more well established than Jack, and her mother clearly wanted the match, she probably agreed for those reasons. So she was clearly romantically attached to Jack in some way. But have they actually slept together? I don't really think there's any indication of that. Would they have slept together if Mr. Wickfield hadn't sent Jack away? I think we don't know. So I think we're meant to sort of wonder what is going on here. We're meant to assume that Annie and Jack have feelings for each other. Maybe even that they were courting before Annie married Dr. Strong. But I think we're not meant to know the specifics at this point. And Dr. Strong clearly has no inkling of anything being amiss. So. Okay, that's a lot. I've been going on for a while now, but a lot happened in that chapter so it made sense to touch on all of that, I think. But now let's get back to the book. Davey is happily ensconced in his new life and he's settled in at school. So what is going to happen to him next? What's the next event of this story? Let's keep reading and find out. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmore.com click on contact or scroll into the Show Notes, click the link that's there and please do get in touch with all of your questions, all of your thoughts, all the things that this chapter brings up for you. Alright, let's get started with chapter 17 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 17. Somebody turns up. It has not occurred to me to mention Peggy since I ran away. But of course I wrote her a letter almost as soon as I was housed at Dover. And another and a longer letter containing all particulars fully related. When my aunt took me formally under her protection on my being settled at Dr. Strong's, I wrote to her again detailing my happy condition and prospects. I never could have derived anything like the pleasure from spending the money Mr. Dick had given me that I felt in sending a gold half guinea to Peggotty per post enclosed in this last letter to discharge the sum I had borrowed of her. In which epistle not before I mentioned about the young man with the donkey cart. Okay, so he's paying Peggety back for the money that she gave him when he asked to borrow it so he could run away not telling her what he was up to. And now he's telling her everything that happened and how the man with the cart stole the money. To these communications, Peggotty replied as promptly, if not as concisely, as a merchant's clerk. Her utmost powers of expression, which were certainly not great in ink were exhausted in the attempt to write what she felt on the subject of my journey. Four sides of incoherent and interjectional beginnings of sentences that had no end except blots were inadequate to afford her any relief. But the blots were more expressive to me than the best composition for they showed me that Peggotty had been crying all over the paper. And what could I have desired more? I made out without much difficulty that she could not take quite kindly to my aunt. Yet the notice was too short, after so long a prepossession the other way. We never knew a person, she wrote, but to think that Miss Betsy should seem to be so different from what she had been thought to be was amoral. That was her word. She was evidently still afraid of Miss Betsy for she sent her grateful duty to her but timidly. And she was evidently afraid of me too and entertained the probability of my running away again soon. If I might judge from the repeated hints she threw out that the coach fare to Yarmouth was always to be had of her for the asking. Meaning, if he's going to run away again, he should run to her. She gave me one piece of intelligence which affected me very much. Namely, that there had been a sale of the furniture at our old home and that Mr. And Ms. Murdstone were gone away and the house was shut up, to be let or sold. God knows I had no part in it while they remained there. But it pained me to think of the dear old place as altogether abandoned of the weeds growing tall in the garden and the fallen leaves lying thick and wet upon the paths. I imagined how the winds of winter would howl round it how the cold rain would beat upon the window glass how the moon would make ghosts on the walls of the empty rooms watching their solitude all night I thought afresh of the grave in the churchyard underneath the tree and it seemed as if the house were dead too now and all connected with my father and mother were faded away. There was no other news in Peggotty's letters. Mr. Barkis was an excellent husband, she said, though still a little near meaning. He's still sort of miserly, but we all had our faults, and she had plenty, though I am sure I don't know what they were. And he sent his duty, and my little bedroom was always ready for me. Mr. Peggotty was well, and Ham was well, and Mrs. Gummidge was but poorly and little Emily wouldn't send her love, but said that Peggotty might send it if she liked. All this intelligence I dutifully imparted to my aunt, only reserving to myself the mention of little Em', Ly to whom I instinctively felt that she would not very tenderly incline. While I was yet new at Dr. Strong's she made several excursions over to Canterbury to see me, and always at unseasonable hours, with the view, I suppose, of taking me by surprise, but finding me well employed and bearing a good character, and hearing on all hands that I rose fast in the school. She soon discontinued these visits. I saw her on a Saturday every third or fourth week when I went over to Dover for a treat, and I saw Mr. Dick every alternate Wednesday when he arrived by stage coach at noon to stay until next morning. On these occasions Mr. Dick never travelled without a leathern writing desk containing a supply of stationery and the memorial in relation to which document he had a notion that time was beginning to press now, and that it really must be got out of hand. Mr. Dick was very partial to gingerbread. To render his visits the more agreeable, my aunt had instructed me to open a credit for him at a cake shop, which was hampered with the stipulation that he should not be served with more than one shilling's worth in the course of any one day. This, and the reference of all his little bills at the county inn where he slept to my aunt before they were paid, induced me to suspect that he was only allowed to rattle his money and not to spend it. I found on further investigation that this was so, or at least there was an agreement between him and my aunt that he should account to her for all his disbursements, as he had no idea of deceiving her, and always desired to please her. He was thus made chary of launching into expense. Chary means wary, so he's been made wary of spending too much on this point as well as on all other possible points. Mr. Dick was convinced that my aunt was the wisest and most wonderful of women, as he repeatedly told me with infinite secrecy, and always in a whisper. Trotwood, said Mr. Dick with an air of mystery. After imparting this confidence to Me, one Wednesday. Who's the man that hides near our house and frightens her? Frightens my aunt, sir. Mr. Dick nodded. I thought nothing would have frightened her, he said. For she's here, he whispered softly. Don't mention it. The wisest and most wonderful of women. Having said which, he drew back to observe the effect which this description of her made upon me. The first time he came, said Mr. Dick, was, let me see, 1600 and 49 was the date of King Charles's execution. I think you said 1649? Yes, sir. I don't know how it can be, said Mr. Dick, sorely puzzled and shaking his head. I don't think I am as old as that. Was it in that year that the man appeared, sir? I asked why. Really? Said Mr. Dick. I don't see how it can have been in that year. Trotwood, did you get that date out of history? Yes, sir. I suppose history never lies, does it? Said Mr. Dick with a gleam of hope. Oh, dear, no, sir, I replied most decisively. I was ingenious and young, and I thought so. Meaning he thought, history never lied. I can't make it out, said Mr. Dick, shaking his head. There's something wrong somewhere. However, it was very soon after the mistake was made of putting some of the trouble out of King Charles's head into my head that the man first came. I was walking out with Ms. Trotwood after tea, just at dark, and there he was, close to our house. Walking about? I inquired. Walking about? Repeated Mr. Dick. Let me see. I must recollect a bit. N. No, no, he was not walking about. I asked as the shortest way to get at it what he was doing. Well, he wasn't there at all, said Mr. Dick, until he came up behind her and whispered. Then she turned round and fainted, and I stood still and looked at him, and he walked away. But that he should have been hiding ever since in the ground or somewhere, is the most extraordinary thing. Has he been hiding ever since? I asked. To be sure he has, retorted Mr. Dick, nodding his head gravely. Never came out till last night. We were walking last night, and he came up behind her again, and I knew him again. And did he frighten my aunt again? All of a shiver, said Mr. Dick, counterfeiting that affection and making his teeth chatter, held by the palings, cried, but Trotwood, come here. Getting me close to him that he might whisper very why did she give him money, boy, in the moonlight? He was a beggar, perhaps. Mr. Dick shook his head as utterly renouncing the Suggestion. And having replied a great many times and with great confidence, no beggar, no beggar, no beggar, sir went on to say that from his window he had afterwards and late at night seen my aunt give this person money outside the garden rails in the moonlight, who then slunk away again into the ground again, as he thought probable, and was seen no more, while my aunt came hurriedly and secretly back into the house and had even that morning been quite different from her usual self, which preyed on Mr. Dick's mind. I had not the least belief in the outset of this story that the unknown was anything but a delusion of Mr. Dick's, and one of the line of that ill fated prince who occasioned him so much difficulty. But after some reflection I began to entertain the question whether an attempt or threat of an attempt might have been twice made to take poor Mr. Dick himself from under my aunt's protection, and whether my aunt, the strength of whose kind feeling towards him I knew from herself, might have been induced to pay a price for his peace and quiet meaning. Maybe this person is trying to take Mr. Dick back to the madhouse and Miss Trothood is paying him off. As I was already much attached to Mr. Dick and very solicitous for his welfare, my fears favoured this supposition. And for a long time his Wednesday hardly ever came round without my entertaining a misgiving that he would not be on the coach box as usual. There he always appeared, however gray headed, laughing and happy, and he never had anything more to tell of the man who could frighten my aunt. These Wednesdays were the happiest days of Mr. Dick's life. They were far from being the least happy of mine. He soon became known to every boy in the school, and though he never took an active part in any game but kite flying, was as deeply interested in all our sports as anyone among us. How often have I seen him intent upon a match at marbles or peg top, looking on with a face of unutterable interest and hardly breathing at the critical times. How often at Hare and Hounds have I seen him mounted on a little knoll, cheering the whole field on to action and waving his hat above his grey head, oblivious of King Charles the Martyr's head and all belonging to it. How many a summer hour have I known to be but blissful minutes to him in the cricket field? How many winter days have I seen him standing blue nosed in the snow and east wind, looking at the boys going down the long slide and clapping his worsted gloves in rapture? He was A universal favorite, and his ingenuity in little things was transcendent. He could cut oranges into such devices as none of us had an idea of. He could make a boat out of anything from a skewer upwards. He could turn cramp bones into chessmen. Cramp bones are the knee bones of sheep that people believed could be used as a charm to cure cramps, fashion Roman chariots from old court cards, make spoked wheels out of cotton reels and bird cages of old wire. But he was greatest of all, perhaps, in the articles of string and straw with which we were all persuaded he could do anything that could be done by hand. Mr. Dick's renown was not long confined to us. After a few Wednesdays, Dr. Strong himself made some inquiries of me about him. And I told him all my aunt had told me, which interested the doctor so much that he requested, on the occasion of his next visit to be presented to him. This ceremony I performed, and the doctor begging Mr. Dick, whensoever he should not find me at the coach office, to come on there and rest himself until our morning's work was over. And it soon passed into a custom for Mr. Dick to come on as a matter of course. And if we were a little late, as often happened on a Wednesday, to walk about the courtyard waiting for me. Here he made the acquaintance of the doctor's beautiful young wife. Paler than formerly, all this time more rarely seen by me or anyone, I think, and not so gay, but not less beautiful. And so became more and more familiar by degrees until at last he would come into the school and wait. He always sat in a particular corner on a particular stool which was called Dick after him. Here he would sit with his gray head bent forward attentively, listening to whatever might be going on, with a profound veneration for the learning he had never been able to acquire. This veneration Mr. Dick extended to the doctor, whom he thought the most subtle and accomplished philosopher of any age. It was long before Mr. Dick ever spoke to him otherwise than bareheaded. And even when he and the doctor had struck up quite a friendship and would walk together by the hour on that side of the courtyard which was known among us as the doctor's walk, Mr. Dick would pull off his hat at intervals to show his respect for wisdom and knowledge. How it ever came about that the doctor began to read out scraps of the famous dictionary in these walks, I never knew. Perhaps he felt it all the same at first as reading to himself. However, it passed into a custom too, and Mr. Dick listening with a face shining with pride and pleasure in his heart of hearts, believed the dictionary to be the most delightful book in the world. As I think of them going up and down before those schoolroom windows, the doctor reading with his complacent smile, an occasional flourish of the manuscript or grave motion of his head, and Mr. Dick listening, enchained by interest with his poor wits, calmly wandering God knows where upon the wings of hard words. I think of it as one of the pleasantest things in a quiet way that I have ever seen. I feel as if they might go walking to and fro forever, and the world might somehow be better for it, as if a thousand things it makes a noise about were not one half so good for it or me. Agnes was one of Mr. Dick's friends. Very soon, and in often coming to the house, he made acquaintance with Uriah. The friendship between himself and me increased continually, and it was maintained on this odd footing that while Mr. Dick came professedly to look after me as my guardian, he always consulted me in any little matter of doubt that arose, and invariably guided himself by my advice, not only having a high respect for my native sagacity, but considering that I inherited a good deal from my aunt. One Thursday morning, when I was about to walk with Mr. Dick from the hotel to the coach office before going back to school, for we had an hour's school before breakfast, I met Uriah in the street, who reminded me of the promise I had made to take tea with himself and his mother, adding with a writhe, but I didn't expect you to keep it, Master Copperfield, we're so very umble. I really had not yet been able to make up my mind whether I liked Uriah or detested him, and I was very doubtful about it still, as I stood looking him in the face in the street. But I felt it quite an affront to be supposed proud, and said I only wanted to be asked. Oh, if that's all, Master Copperfield, said Uriah, and it really isn't our umbleness that prevents you, will you come this evening? But if it is our umbleness, I hope you won't mind owning to it, Master Copperfield, for we are well aware of our good addition. I said I would mention it to Mr. Wickfield, and if he approved, as I had no doubt he would, I would come with pleasure. So at 6 o' clock that evening, which was one of the early office evenings, I announced myself as ready to Uriah. Mother will be proud indeed, he said, as we walked away together or she would be proud if it wasn't sinful, Master Copperfield. Yet you don't mind supposing I was proud this morning I returned. Oh dear, no, Master Copperfield returned Uriah. Oh, believe me, no. Such a thought never came into my head. I shouldn't have deemed it at all proud if you had thought us too umble for you, because we are so very umble. Have you been studying much law lately? I asked to change the subject. Oh, Master Copperfield, he said with an air of self denial. My reading is hardly to be called study. I have passed an hour or two in the evening sometimes with Mr. Tidd. Rather hard, I suppose, said I. He is hard to me sometimes, returned Uriah. But I don't know what he might be to a gifted person. After beating a little tune on his chin as he walked on with the two forefingers of his skeleton right hand, he added, there are expressions, you see, Master Copperfield. Latin words and terms in Mr. Tidd that are trying to a reader of my humble attainments. Would you like to be taught Latin? I said briskly. I will teach it you with pleasure, as I learn it. Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield, he answered, shaking his head. I am sure it's very kind of you to make the offer, but I am much too humble to accept it. What nonsense, Uriah? Oh, indeed. You must excuse me, Master Copperfield. I am greatly obliged and I should like it of all things, I assure you. But I am far too umble. There are people enough to tread upon me in my lowly state without my doing outrage to their feelings by possessing. Learning. Learning ain't for me. A person like myself had better not aspire. If he is to get on in life, he must go on umbly, Master Copperfield. I never saw his mouth so wide or the creases in his cheeks so deep as when he delivered himself of these sentiments, shaking his head all the time and writhing modestly. I think you're wrong, Uriah, I said. I dare say there are several things that I could teach you if you would like to learn them. Oh, I don't doubt that, Master Copperfield, he answered. Not in the least. But not being umble yourself, you don't doubt, judge. Well, perhaps for them that are. I won't provoke my betters with knowledge. Thank you. I'm much too umble. Here is my umble dwelling, Master Copperfield. We entered a low old fashioned room, walked straight into from the street and found there Mrs. Heep, who was the dead image of Uriah, only short, she received me with the utmost humility and apologized to me for giving her son a kiss observing that, lowly as they were, they had their natural affections which they hoped would give no offence to anyone. It was a perfectly decent room, half parlour and half kitchen, but not at all a snug room. The tea things were set upon the table and the kettle was boiling on the hob. There was a chest of drawers with an escritoire top, meaning it has drawers and compartments above it for Uriah to read or write at of an evening. There was Uriah's blue bag lying down and vomiting papers. There was a company of Uriah's books, commanded by Mr. Tidd. There was a corner cupboard and there were the usual articles of furniture. I don't remember that any individual object had a bare, pinched, spare look but I do remember that the whole place had. It was perhaps a part of Mrs. Heep's humility that she still wore weeds. Weeds are widow's weeds, which are black clothing to denote that you're in mourning. Notwithstanding the lapse of time that had occurred since Mr. Heape's decease, she still wore weeds. I think there was some compromise in the cap, but otherwise she was as weedy as in the early days of her mourning. This is a day to be remembered, my Uriah. I am sure, said Mrs. Heep, making the tea when Master Copperfield pays us a visit, I said, you'd think so, mother, said Uriah. If I could have wished Father to remain among us for any reason, said Mrs. Heep, it would have been that he might have known his company this afternoon. I felt embarrassed by these compliments, but I was sensible, too, of being entertained as an honoured guest and I thought Mrs. Heape an agreeable woman. My Uriah, said, Mrs. Heep has looked forward to this, sir, a long while. He had his fears that our umbleness stood in the way, and I joined them myself. Umble we are, umble we have been, umble we shall ever be, said Mrs. Heep. I am sure you have no occasion to be so, ma', am, I said, unless you like it. Thank you, sir, retorted Mrs. Heep. We know our station and are thankful in it. I found that Mrs. Heep gradually got nearer to me and that Uriah gradually got opposite to me and that they respectfully plied me with the choicest of the edibles on the table. There was nothing particularly choice there, to be sure but I took the will for the deed and felt that they were very attentive. Presently they began to talk about aunts and then I told them about mine and about fathers and mothers and then I told them about mine. And then Mrs. Heap began to talk about fathers in law and then I began to tell her about mine but stopped because my aunt had advised me to observe a silence on that subject. A tender young cork, however, would have had no more chance against a pair of corkscrews or a tender young tooth against a pair of dentists or a little shuttlecock against two battledores than I had against Uriah and Mrs. Heep. Meaning they're trying to get his story out of him. And they did it cunningly and well. They did just what they liked with me and wormed things out of me that I had no desire to tell with a certainty. I blushed to think of the more especially as in my juvenile frankness. I took some credit to myself for being so confidential and felt that I was quite the patron of my two respectable entertainers. Meaning he felt he was being kind to them by being so open with them when they're so lowly. They were very fond of one another, that was certain. I take it. That had its effect upon me as a touch of nature but the skill with which the one followed up whatever the other said was a touch of art which I was still less proof against. When there was nothing more to be got out of me about myself. For on the Murdstone and Grinby life and on my journey I was dumb, meaning he wouldn't talk about it. They began about Mr. Wickfield and Agnes. Uriah threw the ball to Mrs. Heep. Mrs. Heep caught it and threw it back to Uriah. Uriah kept it up a little while then sent it back to Mrs. Heep. And so they went on tossing it about until I had no idea who had got it and was quite bewildered. The ball itself was always changing too. Now it was Mr. Wickfield, now Agnes, now the excellence of Mr. Wickfield, now my admiration of Agnes now the extent of Mr. Wickfield's business and resources. Now our domestic life after dinner. Now the wine that Mr. Wickfield took, the reason why he took it and the pity that it was he took so much. Now one thing, now another, then everything at once and all the time without appearing to speak very often or to do anything but sometimes encourage them a little for fear they should be overcome by their humility and the honour of my company. I found myself perpetually letting out something or other that I had no business to let out and seeing the effect of it in the twinkling of Uriah's dinted nostrils. I had begun to be a little uncomfortable and to wish myself well out of the visit, when a figure coming down the street passed the door. It stood open to air the room, which was warm, the weather being close for the time of year, came back again, looked in and walked in, exclaiming loudly, copperfield. Is it possible it was Mr. Micawber? It was Mr. Micawber, with his eyeglass and his walking stick and his shirt collar and his genteel air and the condescending roll in his voice. All complet. My dear Copperfield, said Mr. Micawber, putting out his hand, this is indeed a meeting which is calculated to impress the mind with a sense of the instability and uncertainty of all human. In short, it is a most extraordinary meeting. Walking along the street, reflecting upon the probability of something turning up of which I am at present rather sanguine, meaning he feels good about something turning up, I find a young but valued friend turn up who is connected with the most eventful period of my life, I may say with the turning point of my existence. Copperfield, my dear fellow, how do you do? I cannot say, I really cannot say that I was glad to see Mr. Micawber there, but I was glad to see him too, and shook hands with him heartily, inquiring how Mrs. Micawber was. Thank you, said Mr. Micawber, waving his hand as of old and settling his chin in his shirt collar. She is tolerably convalescent. The twins no longer derive their sustenance from nature's founts. In short, said Mr. Micawber, in one of his bursts of confidence, they are weaned. And Mrs. Micawber is at present my travelling companion. She will be, rejoiced, Copperfield, to renew her acquaintance with one who has proved himself in all respects a worthy minister. Sister at the sacred altar of friendship. I said I should be delighted to see her. You are very good, said Mr. Micawber. Mr. Micawber then smiled, settled his chin again, and looked about him. I have discovered my friend Copperfield, said Mr. Micawber, genteelly and without addressing himself, particularly to anyone, not in solitude, but partaking of a social meal, in company with a widow lady and one who is apparently her offspring. In short, said Mr. Micawber, in another of his bursts of confidence, her son, I shall esteem it an honour to be presented. I could do no less under these circumstances than make Mr. Micawber known to Uriah Heep and his mother, which I accordingly did, as they abased themselves before him. Mr. Micawber took a seat and waved his hand in his most courtly manner. Any friend of my friend Copperfields, said Mr. Micawber, has a personal claim upon myself. We are too umble, sir, said Mrs. Heep, my son and me, to be the friends of Master Copperfield. He has been so good as to take his tea with us, and we are thankful to him for his company. Also to you, sir, for your notice, ma', am, returned Mr. Micawber with a bow. You are very obliging. And what are you doing, Copperfield, still in the wine trade? I was excessively anxious to get Mr. Micawber away, and replied with my hat in my hand and a very red face. I have no doubt that I was a pupil at Dr. Strong's. A pupil? Said Mr. Micawber, raising his eyebrows. I am extremely happy to hear it. Although a mind like my friend Copperfield's to Uriah and Mrs. Heep does not require that cultivation which without his knowledge of men and things it would require, still it is a rich soil teeming with latent vegetation. In short, said Mr. Micawber, smiling in another burst of confidence, it is an intellect capable of getting up the classics to any extent. Uriah, with his long hands slowly twining over one another, made a ghastly writhe from the waist upwards to express his concurrence in this estimation of me. Shall we go and see Mrs. Micawber, sir? I said, to get Mr. Micawber away. If you will do her that favour, Copperfield, replied Mr. Micawber, rising, I have no scruple in saying in the presence of our friends here, that I am a man who has for some years contended against the pressure of pecuniary difficulties. I knew he was certain to say something of this kind. He always would be so boastful about his difficulties. Difficulties. Sometimes I have risen superior to my difficulties. Sometimes my difficulties have, in short, have floored me. There have been times when I have administered a succession of facers to them. There have been times when they have been too many for me, and I have given in and said to Mrs. Micawber, in the words of Cato, plato, thou reasonest well, it's all up now. I can show fight no more. But at no time of my life, said Mr. Micawber, have I enjoyed a greater degree of satisfaction than in pouring my griefs. If I may describe difficulties chiefly arising out of warrants of attorney and promissory notes, at two and four months, by that word, into the bosom of my friend Copperfield. Mr. Micawber closed this handsome tribute by saying, Mr. Heap, good evening, Mrs. Heep, your servant, and then walking out with me in his most fashionable manner, making a good deal of noise on the pavement with his shoes and humming a tune as we went. It was a Little Inn where Mr. Micawber put up and he occupied a little room in it, partitioned off from the commercial room and strongly flavoured with tobacco smoke. I think it was over the kitchen, because a warm greasy smell appeared to come up through the chinks in the floor and there was a flat flabby perspiration on the walls. I know it was near the bar on account of the smell of spirits and jingling of glasses. Here recumbent on a small sofa underneath a picture of a race horse with her head close to the fire and her feet pushing the mustard off the dumb waiter at the other end of the room was Mrs. Micawber, to whom Mr. Micawber entered first, saying, my dear, allow me to introduce to you a pupil of Dr. Strong. I noticed by the by that although Mr. Micawber was just as much confused as ever about my age and standing, he always remembered as a genteel thing that I was a pupil of Dr. Strong's. Mrs. Micawber was amazed but very glad to see me. I was very glad to see her, too and after an affectionate greeting on both sides, sat down on the small sofa near her. My dear, said Mr. Micawber, if you will mention to Copperfield what our present position is, which I have no doubt he will like to know, I will go and look at the paper the while and see whether anything turns up among the advertisements. I thought you were at Plymouth, ma', am, I said to Mrs. Micawber as he went out. My dear Master Copperfield, she replied, we went to Plymouth to be on the spot, I hinted. Just so, said Mrs. Micawber, to be on the spot. But the truth is, talent is not wanted in the Custom House. The local influence of my family was quite unavailing to obtain any employment in that department for a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities. They would rather not have a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities. He would only show the deficiency of the others, saying that it must have been that Mr. Micawber was too qualified for the job. Apart from which, said Mrs. Micawber, I will not disguise from you, my dear Master Copperfield, that when that branch of my family, which is settled in Plymouth, became aware that Mr. Micawber was accompanied by myself and my little Wilkins and his sister, and by the twins, they did not receive him with that ardour which he might have expected, being so newly released from captivity. In fact, said Mrs. Micawber, lowering her voice, this is between ourselves. Our reception was cool. Dear me, I said. Yes, said Mrs. Micawber. It is truly painful to contemplate mankind in such an aspect, Master Copperfield. But our reception was decidedly cool, there is no doubt about it. In fact, that branch of my family, which is settled in Plymouth became quite personal to Mr. Micawber before we had been there a week, I said, and thought that they ought to be ashamed of themselves still. So it was, continued Mrs. Micawber. Under such circumstances, what could a man of Mr. Micawber's spirit do? But one obvious course was left to borrow of that branch of my family the money to return to London, and to return at any sacrifice. Then you all came back again, ma', am, I said. We all came back again, replied Mrs. Micawber. Since then I have consulted other branches of my family on the course which it is most expedient for Mr. Micawber to take. For I maintain that he must take some course. Master Copperfield, said Mrs. Micawber, argumentatively, it is clear that a family of six, not including a domestic, cannot live upon air. Certainly, ma', am, said I. The opinion of those other branches of my family, pursued Mrs. Micawber, is that Mr. Micawber should immediately turn his attention to coals. To what, ma'? Am? To coals, said Mrs. Micawber. To the coal trade. Mr. Micawber was induced to think, on inquiry that there might be an opening for a man of his talent in the Medway coal trade. Then, as Mr. Micawber Very properly said, the first step to be taken clearly was to come and see the Medway, which we came and saw. I say we, Master Copperfield. For I Never will, said Mrs. Micawber with emotion, I never will desert Mr. Micawber. I murmured my admiration and approbation. We came, repeated Mrs. Micawber, and saw the Medway. My opinion of the coal trade on that river is that it may require talent, but that it certainly requires capital, meaning money. Talent, Mr. Micawber has capital. Mr. Micawber has not. We saw, I think, the greater part of the Medway, and that is my individual conclusion, being so near here. Mr. Macawer was of opinion that it would be rash not to come on and see the cathedral. Firstly, on account of its being so well worth seeing and our never having seen it and secondly, on account of the great probability of something turning up in a cathedral town. We have been here, said Mrs. Micawber, three days. Nothing has as yet turned up. And it may not surprise you, my dear Master Copperfield, so much as it would a stranger, to know that we are at present waiting for a remittance from London to discharge our pecuniary obligations at this hotel. So they can't pay the hotel for their stay and they're waiting for someone to send them some money from London. Until the arrival of that remittance, said Mrs. Micawber with much feeling, I am cut off from my home. I allude to lodgings in Pentonville from my boy and girl, and from my twins. I felt the utMost sympathy for Mr. And Mrs. Micawber in this anxious extremity and said as much to Mr. Micawber, who now returned, adding that I only wished I had money enough to lend them the amount they needed. Mr. Micawber's answer expressed a disturbance of his mind. He said, shaking hands with me, copperfield, you are a true friend, but when the worst comes to the worst, no man is without a friend who is possessed of shaving materials, meaning he could always kill himself. At this dreadful hint, Mrs. Micawber threw her arms around Mr. Micawber's neck and entreated him to be calm home. He wept, but so far recovered almost immediately as to ring the bell for the waiter and bespeak a hot kidney pudding and a plate of shrimps for breakfast in the morning. When I took my leave of them, they both pressed me so much to come and dine before they went away that I could not refuse. But as I knew I could not come next day, when I should have a good deal to prepare in the evening. Mr. Micawber arranged that he would call at Dr. Strong's in the course of the morning, having a presentiment that the remittance would arrive by that post, and proposed the day after if it would suit me better. Accordingly, I was called out of school next forenoon and found Mr. Micawber in the parlour, who had called to say that the dinner would take place as proposed. When I asked him if the remittance had come, he pressed my hand and departed. As I was looking out of window that same evening it surprised me and made me rather uneasy to see Mr. Micawber and Uriah Heep walk past, arm in army, Uriah, humbly sensible of the honour that was done him, and Mr. Micawber, taking a bland delight in extending his patronage to Uriah. But I was still more surprised when I went to the little hotel next day at the appointed dinner hour, which was 4 o' clock, to find from what Mr. Micawber said that he had gone home with Uriah and had drunk brandy and water at Mrs. Heep's. And I'll tell you what, my dear Copperfield, said Mr. Micawber. Your friend Heap is a young fellow who might be Attorney General. If I had known that young man at the period when my difficulties came to a crisis. All I can say is that I believe my creditors would have been a great deal better managed than they were. I hardly understood how this could have been, seeing that Mr. Micawber had paid them nothing at all as it was. But I did not like to ask. Neither did I like to say that I hoped he had not been too communicative to Uriah or to inquire if they had talked much about me. I was afraid of hurting Mr. Micawber's feelings or at all events, Mrs. Micawbers, she being very sensitive. But I was uncomfortable about it too, and often thought about it. Afterwards we had a beautiful little dinner, quite an elegant dish of fish, the kidney end of a loin, of veal, roasted, fried sausage, meat, a partridge and a pudding. There was wine and there was strong ale and after dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a bowl of hot punch with her own hand. Hands. Mr. Micawber was uncommonly convivial. I never saw him such good company. He made his face shine with the punch so that it looked as if he had been varnished all over. He got cheerfully sentimental about the town and proposed success to it observing that Mrs. Micawber and himself had been made extremely snug and comfortable there and that he never should forget the agreeable hours they had passed in Canterbury. He proposed me afterwards and he and Mrs. Micawber and I took a review of our past acquaintance in the course of which we sold the property all over again. Then I proposed Mrs. Micawber, or at least said modestly, if you'll allow me, Mrs. Micawber, I shall now have the pleasure of drinking your health, ma'. Am. On which Mr. Micawber delivered a eulogium on Mrs. Micawber's character and said she had ever been his guide, philosopher and friend and that he would recommend me when I came to a marrying time of life to marry such another woman, if such another woman could be found. As the punch disappeared, Mr. Micawber became still more friendly and convivial. Mrs. Micawber's spirits becoming elevated too. We sang Auld Lang Syne when we came to Here's a hand, my trusty frere. We all joined hands round the table and when we declared we would take a right good willie Watt and hadn't the least idea what it meant, we were really affected. In a word, I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. Micawber was. Down to the very last moment of the evening when I took a hearty farewell of him and his amiable wife. Consequently, I was not prepared at 7 o' clock next morning to receive the following communication, dated half past nine in the evening, a quarter of an hour after I had left him. My dear young friend, the die is castall is over. Hiding the ravages of care with a sickly mask of mirth. I have not informed you this evening that there is no hope of the remittance under these circumstances alike humiliating to endure, humiliating to contemplate and humiliating to relate. I have discharged the pecuniary liability contracted at this establishment by giving a note of hand made payable 14 days after date at my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, it will not be taken up. The result is destruction. The bolt is impending and the tree must fall. Okay, meaning he can't pay the hotel, so he took out a loan, but he won't be able to pay that either, so he's going to be in trouble. Let the wretched man who now addresses you, my dear Copperfield, be a beacon to you through life. He writes with that intention and in that hope. If he could think himself of so much use, one gleam of day might by possibility penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining existence, though his longevity is, at present, to say the least of it, extremely problematical. This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you will ever receive from the beggared outcast Wilkins Micawber. I was so shocked by the contents of this heartrending letter that I ran off directly towards the little hotel with the intention of taking it on my way to Dr. Strong's and trying to stop, soothe Mr. Micawber with a word of comfort. But half way there I met the London coach with Mr. And Mrs. Micawber up behind Mr. Micawber, the very picture of tranquil enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber's conversation, eating walnuts out of a paper bag with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket. As they did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind I turned into a by street that was the nearest way to school and felt upon the whole relieved that they were gone, though I still liked them very much nonetheless. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website faithkmoore.com click on contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the Show Notes. You can learn more about me, check out our Merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded and marketed by me, so I need your help. Spread the word about the show by posting about it on social media or texting a link to your friends. Subscribe, tap those five stars and leave a positive review wherever you're listening. If you are able to support the show financially, there's a link in the Show Notes to make a donation. I would really, really appreciate it. Alright everyone, story time is over to be continue.