Though I don't know that it's much of a peculiarity, either; for he has been ill-used enough, by some that bear it, to have a mortal antipathy for it, Heaven knows.

Mr.Dick is his name here, and everywhere else, now--if he ever went anywhere else, which he don't.

So take care, child, you don't call him anything BUT Mr.
Dick.' I promised to obey, and went upstairs with my message; thinking, as I went, that if Mr.Dick had been working at his Memorial long, at the same rate as I had seen him working at it, through the open door, when I came down, he was probably getting on very well indeed.

I found him still driving at it with a long pen, and his head almost laid upon the paper.

He was so intent upon it, that I had ample leisure to observe the large paper kite in a corner, the confusion of bundles of manuscript, the number of pens, and, above all, the quantity of ink (which he seemed to have in, in half-gallon jars by the dozen), before he observed my being present.
'Ha! Phoebus!' said Mr.Dick, laying down his pen.