Tim Linkinwater, sir--you're a fine fellow.' 'Here's a pleasant thing to think of!' said Tim, wholly regardless of this address to himself, and raising his spectacles from the ledger to the brothers.

'Here's a pleasant thing.

Do you suppose I haven't often thought of what would become of these books when I was gone?
Do you suppose I haven't often thought that things might go on irregular and untidy here, after I was taken away?
But now,' said Tim, extending his forefinger towards Nicholas, 'now, when I've shown him a little more, I'm satisfied.

The business will go on, when I'm dead, as well as it did when I was alive--just the same--and I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that there never were such books--never were such books! No, nor never will be such books--as the books of Cheeryble Brothers.' Having thus expressed his sentiments, Mr Linkinwater gave vent to a short laugh, indicative of defiance to the cities of London and Westminster, and, turning again to his desk, quietly carried seventy-six from the last column he had added up, and went on with his work.
'Tim Linkinwater, sir,' said brother Charles; 'give me your hand, sir.
This is your birthday.

How dare you talk about anything else till you have been wished many happy returns of the day, Tim Linkinwater?
God bless you, Tim! God bless you!' 'My dear brother,' said the other, seizing Tim's disengaged fist, 'Tim Linkinwater looks ten years younger than he did on his last birthday.' 'Brother Ned, my dear boy,' returned the other old fellow, 'I believe that Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred and fifty years old, and is gradually coming down to five-and-twenty; for he's younger every birthday than he was the year before.' 'So he is, brother Charles, so he is,' replied brother Ned.