'And a great stroke of policy in you to observe it.

He, he, he! We couldn't have gone outside.

I should have died of the rheumatism!' Whether it occurred to the dutiful son that he had in some degree over-reached himself by contributing to the prolongation of his father's days; or whether the cold had effected his temper; is doubtful.

But he gave his father such a nudge in reply, that that good old gentleman was taken with a cough which lasted for full five minutes without intermission, and goaded Mr Pecksniff to that pitch of irritation, that he said at last--and very suddenly: 'There is no room! There is really no room in this coach for any gentleman with a cold in his head!' 'Mine,' said the old man, after a moment's pause, 'is upon my chest, Pecksniff.' The voice and manner, together, now that he spoke out; the composure of the speaker; the presence of his son; and his knowledge of Mr Pecksniff; afforded a clue to his identity which it was impossible to mistake.
'Hem! I thought,' said Mr Pecksniff, returning to his usual mildness, 'that I addressed a stranger.

I find that I address a relative, Mr Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Mr Jonas--for they, my dear children, are our travelling companions--will excuse me for an apparently harsh remark.