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Updated: May 10, 2025
Mr Casby lived in a street in the Gray's Inn Road, which had set off from that thoroughfare with the intention of running at one heat down into the valley, and up again to the top of Pentonville Hill; but which had run itself out of breath in twenty yards, and had stood still ever since.
It was as scrubby and dingy as ever, and as eager and quick as ever, and he could see nothing lurking in it that was at all expressive of a latent mockery that had seemed to strike upon his ear in the voice. 'Now, said Pancks, 'to put this business on its own footing, it's not my proprietor's. 'Do you refer to Mr Casby as your proprietor? Pancks nodded. 'My proprietor. Put a case.
A bare-polled, goggle-eyed, big-headed lumbering personage stood staring at him, not in the least impressive, not in the least venerable, who seemed to have started out of the earth to ask what was become of Casby.
'Yes, I should think so! The lot that your Casby belongs to, is the shabbiest of all the lots. Setting their Grubbers on, at a wretched pittance, to do what they're ashamed and afraid to do and pretend not to do, but what they will have done, or give a man no rest! Imposing on you to give their Grubbers nothing but blame, and to give them nothing but credit!
Yes, yes. Dorrit? That's the name. Ah, yes, yes! You call her Little Dorrit? No road in that direction. Nothing came of the cross-cut. It led no further. 'My daughter Flora, said Mr Casby, 'as you may have heard probably, Mr Clennam, was married and established in life, several years ago. She had the misfortune to lose her husband when she had been married a few months.
Bleeding Heart Yard had been harrowed by Mr Pancks, and cropped by Mr Casby, at the regular seasons; Mr Pancks had taken all the drudgery and all the dirt of the business as his share; Mr Casby had taken all the profits, all the ethereal vapour, and all the moonshine, as his share; and, in the form of words which that benevolent beamer generally employed on Saturday evenings, when he twirled his fat thumbs after striking the week's balance, 'everything had been satisfactory to all parties all parties satisfactory, sir, to all parties.
You'd be poor yourself if you didn't get your rents. 'True enough, said Arthur. 'You're not going to keep open house for all the poor of London, pursued Pancks. 'You're not going to lodge 'em for nothing. You're not going to open your gates wide and let 'em come free. Not if you know it, you ain't. Mr Casby shook his head, in Placid and benignant generality.
'Those times, however, pursued Mr Casby, 'are past and gone, past and gone.
'He is Mr Casby, by name, he is, said Plornish, 'and Pancks, he collects the rents. That, added Mr Plornish, dwelling on the subject with a slow thoughtfulness that appeared to have no connection with any specific object, and to lead him nowhere, 'that is about what they are, you may believe me or not, as you think proper. 'Ay? returned Clennam, thoughtful in his turn. 'Mr Casby, too!
At length, by a great effort, he detached himself from the subject sufficiently to observe: 'But she's neither here nor there just at present. The other lady, she's Mr Casby's daughter; and if Mr Casby an't well off, none better, it an't through any fault of Pancks. For, as to Pancks, he does, he really does, he does indeed!
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