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What the beef-steak pudding would have come to, if it had not been by this time finished, astrology itself could hardly determine. 'Tom, said Ruth, after a little hesitation, 'perhaps Mr Westlock, in his friendship for you, knows more of this than he chooses to tell. 'No, indeed! cried John, eagerly. 'It is not so, I assure you. I wish it were.
John Westlock was at home, but, strange to say, was rather embarrassed to see them; and when Tom was about to go into the room where he was breakfasting, said he had a stranger there. It appeared to be a mysterious stranger, for John shut that door as he said it, and led them into the next room.
John at that moment was standing close in front of the sick man, in the act of releasing him from the torture of the collars before mentioned, when he said in a whisper: 'Mr Westlock! I don't wish to be overheard. I have something very particular and strange to say to you; something that has been a dreadful weight on my mind, through this long illness.
It really seems, said Tom, relinquishing the paper with a thoughtful sigh, 'as if people had the same gratification in printing their complaints as in making them known by word of mouth; as if they found it a comfort and consolation to proclaim "I want such and such a thing, and I can't get it, and I don't expect I ever shall!" John Westlock laughed at the idea, and they went out together.
No, Betsey! said Mrs Gamp, in a violent burst of feeling, 'nor worms forget! The little barber scratched his head, and shook it, and looked at the teapot, and gradually got out of the room. John Westlock, taking a chair, sat down on one side of Mrs Gamp. Martin, taking the foot of the bed, supported her on the other. 'You wonder what we want, I daresay, observed John.
Vacant, and ready for your acceptance. 'Good gracious me! cried Tom; 'a hundred pounds a year! My dear John! Ruth, my love! A hundred pounds a year! 'But the strangest part of the story, resumed John Westlock, laying his hand on Tom's wrist, to bespeak his attention, and repress his ecstasies for the moment; 'the strangest part of the story, Miss Pinch, is this.
'That's all right, said John, after contemplating his visitor's proceedings with infinite satisfaction. 'Now, about our plans. You are going to stay with me, of course. Where's your box? 'It's at the Inn, said Tom. 'I didn't intend 'Never mind what you didn't intend, John Westlock interposed. 'What you DID intend is more to the purpose.
The old man then related how nobly Mr Pecksniff had performed the duty in which he stood indebted to society, in the matter of Tom's dismissal; and how, having often heard disparagement of Mr Westlock from Pecksniffian lips, and knowing him to be a friend to Tom, he had used, through his confidential agent and solicitor, that little artifice which had kept him in readiness to receive his unknown friend in London.
Tom looked up, in surprise, and saw John Westlock close beside him, holding out his hand. 'John! cried Tom. 'John! 'Dear Tom, said his friend, 'give me your hand. We are brothers, Tom. Tom wrung it with all his force, embraced his sister fervently, and put her in John Westlock's arms. 'Don't speak to me, John. Heaven is very good to us.
They breakfasted together very early next morning, for the two young men desired to get back again in good season; and John Westlock was to return to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to spare, he bore them company for three or four miles on their walk, and only parted from them at last in sheer necessity.
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