For it would be devilish creditable, Tom (I'm quite in earnest, I give you my word), to have a man of your information about one, instead of some ordinary blockhead.

Oh, I'd take care of you.

You'd be useful, rely upon it!' To say that Tom had no idea of playing first fiddle in any social orchestra, but was always quite satisfied to be set down for the hundred and fiftieth violin in the band, or thereabouts, is to express his modesty in very inadequate terms.

He was much delighted, therefore, by these observations.
'I should be married to her then, Tom, of course,' said Martin.
What was that which checked Tom Pinch so suddenly, in the high flow of his gladness; bringing the blood into his honest cheeks, and a remorseful feeling to his honest heart, as if he were unworthy of his friend's regard?
'I should be married to her then,' said Martin, looking with a smile towards the light; 'and we should have, I hope, children about us.
They'd be very fond of you, Tom.' But not a word said Mr Pinch.

The words he would have uttered died upon his lips, and found a life more spiritual in self-denying thoughts.
'All the children hereabouts are fond of you, Tom, and mine would be, of course,' pursued Martin.