Hear!' and tapping at the wall, by way of applause.
Our conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr.Micawber telling us that he found Camden Town inconvenient, and that the first thing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement should have been the cause of something satisfactory turning up, was to move.

He mentioned a terrace at the western end of Oxford Street, fronting Hyde Park, on which he had always had his eye, but which he did not expect to attain immediately, as it would require a large establishment.

There would probably be an interval, he explained, in which he should content himself with the upper part of a house, over some respectable place of business--say in Piccadilly,--which would be a cheerful situation for Mrs.Micawber; and where, by throwing out a bow-window, or carrying up the roof another story, or making some little alteration of that sort, they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years.

Whatever was reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his abode might be, we might rely on this--there would always be a room for Traddles, and a knife and fork for me.

We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us to forgive his having launched into these practical and business-like details, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new arrangements in life.
Mrs.Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were ready, broke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation.