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Dombey's character that he basks with a fatuous calm in the blazing sun of Major Bagstock's tropical and offensive flattery. Here, then, is the essence of the change. He not only wishes to write a novel; this he did as early as Nicholas Nickleby. He wishes to have as little as possible in the novel that does not really assist it as a novel.
Nothing old-timey about this young female that's studyin' out Mrs. Bagstock's letter. Barrin' the floppy cap, she's costumed zippy enough in what I should judge was a last fall's tango dress. As she reads she yanks gum industrious. "Say," she breaks out, "this is all Dutch to me. Who's bein' called down, anyway?" "We are," says I. "The Corrugated Trust. I'm private sec. there.
Theodore Bayly Bagstock's third Wednesday; the other was six lines in the obituary column. Old Hickory reads 'em, and then sits for a minute, gazin' over the top of his desk at nothing at all. "Poor Natalie!" says be, after a while. "So that was her last." "Nobody ever finished any happier, though," says I. "Hah!" says he. "Then perhaps that balances the account."
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