But as Mr.Dickens sucked in the smoke and puffed it out again, the feelings of a man were perceptible in his eyes.

He was thinking how Captain Barfoot was now on his way to Mount Pleasant; Captain Barfoot, his master.

For at home in the little sitting-room above the mews, with the canary in the window, and the girls at the sewing-machine, and Mrs.Dickens huddled up with the rheumatics--at home where he was made little of, the thought of being in the employ of Captain Barfoot supported him.

He liked to think that while he chatted with Mrs.Barfoot on the front, he helped the Captain on his way to Mrs.Flanders.He, a man, was in charge of Mrs.
Barfoot, a woman.
Turning, he saw that she was chatting with Mrs.Rogers.Turning again, he saw that Mrs.Rogers had moved on.

So he came back to the bath-chair, and Mrs.Barfoot asked him the time, and he took out his great silver watch and told her the time very obligingly, as if he knew a great deal more about the time and everything than she did.