hen
an addition to the little party made its appearance, in the shape of a
gentleman with a hook instead of a hand attached to his right wrist;
very bushy black eyebrows; and a thick stick in his left hand, covered
all over (like his nose) with knobs. He wore a loose black silk
handkerchief round his neck, and such a very large shirt-collar that it
looked like a small sail over his wide suit of blue. He was evidently
the person for whom the spare wineglass was intended, and evidently knew
it; for having taken off his coat, and hung up his hard glazed hat, he
brought a chair to where the clean glass was, and sat himself down
behind it. He was usually addressed as Captain, this visitor; and had
been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateer's man, or all three perhaps;
and was a very salt looking man indeed. His face brightened as he shook
hands with uncle and nephew; but he seemed to be of a laconic
disposition, and merely said: "How goes it?"

"All well," said Mr. Gills, pushing the bottle towards the new-comer,
Captain Cuttle, who thereupon proceeded to fill his glass, and the
wonderful Madeira loosened his tongue to the extent of giving utterance
to a prodigous oration for Walter's benefit.

"Come," cried Solomon Gills, "we must finish the bottle."

"Stand by!" said Captain Cuttle, filling his glass again. "Give the boy
some more."

"Yes," said Sol, "a little more. We'll finish the bottle to the
House,--Walter's house. Why, it may be his house one of these days, in
part. Who knows? Sir Richard Whittington married his master's daughter."

"Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old,
you will never depart from it," interposed the Captain. "Wal'r, overhaul
the book, my lad!"

"And although Mr. Dombey hasn't a daughter--" Sol began.

"Yes, yes, he has, uncle," said the boy, reddening and laughing. "I know
he has. Some of them were talking about it in the office to-day. And
they do say that he's taken a dislike to her, and that she's left
unnoticed among the servants, while he thinks of no one but his son.
That's what they say. Of course I don't know."

"He knows all about her already, you see," said the instrument-maker.

"Nonsense, uncle," cried the boy reddening again; "how can I help
hearing what they tell me?"

"The son's a little in our way at present, I'm afraid," added the old
man, humoring the joke. "Nevertheless, we'll drink to him," pursued Sol.
"So, here's to Dombey and Son."