I like anything better than being moddley-coddleyed.' With the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in a genial outburst of enthusiasm, Mr.Jasper stands still, and looks on intently at the young fellow, divesting himself of his outward coat, hat, gloves, and so forth.

Once for all, a look of intentness and intensity--a look of hungry, exacting, watchful, and yet devoted affection--is always, now and ever afterwards, on the Jasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed in this direction.

And whenever it is so addressed, it is never, on this occasion or on any other, dividedly addressed; it is always concentrated.
'Now I am right, and now I'll take my corner, Jack.

Any dinner, Jack ?' Mr.Jasper opens a door at the upper end of the room, and discloses a small inner room pleasantly lighted and prepared, wherein a comely dame is in the act of setting dishes on table.
'What a jolly old Jack it is!' cries the young fellow, with a clap of his hands.

'Look here, Jack; tell me; whose birthday is it ?' 'Not yours, I know,' Mr.Jasper answers, pausing to consider.
'Not mine, you know?
No; not mine, _I_ know! Pussy's!' Fixed as the look the young fellow meets, is, there is yet in it some strange power of suddenly including the sketch over the chimneypiece.
'Pussy's, Jack! We must drink Many happy returns to her.