dog as he was。
Without a moment's indecision； Mr Flintwinch accepted the invitation；
and they went out to the quarters where the traveller was lodged；
through a heavy rain which had rattled on the windows； roofs； and
pavements； ever since nightfall。 The thunder and lightning had long ago
passed over； but the rain was furious。 On their arrival at Mr Blandois'
room； a bottle of port wine was ordered by that gallant gentleman； who
（crushing every pretty thing he could collect； in the soft disposition
of his dainty figure） coiled himself upon the window…seat； while Mr
Flintwinch took a chair opposite to him； with the table between them。 Mr
Blandois proposed having the largest glasses in the house； to which Mr
Flintwinch assented。 The bumpers filled； Mr Blandois； with a roystering
gaiety； clinked the top of his glass against the bottom of Mr
Flintwinch's； and the bottom of his glass against the top of Mr
Flintwinch's； and drank to the intimate acquaintance he foresaw。
Mr Flintwinch gravely pledged him； and drank all the wine he could get；
and said nothing。 As often as Mr Blandois clinked glasses （which was
at every replenishment）； Mr Flintwinch stolidly did his part of the
clinking； and would have stolidly done his panion's part of the wine
as well as his own： being； except in the article of palate； a mere cask。
In short； Mr Blandois found that to pour port wine into the reticent
Flintwinch was； not to open him but to shut him up。 Moreover； he had
the appearance of a perfect ability to go on all night； or； if occasion
were； all next day and all next night； whereas Mr Blandois soon grew
indistinctly conscious of swaggering too fiercely and boastfully。 He
therefore terminated the entertainment at the end of the third bottle。
'You will draw upon us to…morrow； sir；' said Mr Flintwinch； with a
business…like face at parting。
'My Cabbage；' returned the other； taking him by the collar with both
hands； 'I'll draw upon you； have no fear。 Adieu； my Flintwinch。 Receive
at parting；' here he gave him a southern embrace； and kissed him soundly
on both cheeks； 'the word of a gentleman！ By a thousand Thunders； you
shall see me again！'
He did not present himself next day； though the letter of advice came
duly to hand。 Inquiring after him at night； Mr Flintwinch found； with
surprise； that he had paid his bill and gone back to the Continent by
way of Calais。 Nevertheless； Jeremiah scraped out of his cogitating
face a lively conviction that Mr Blandois would keep his word on this
occasion； and would be seen again。
CHAPTER 31。 Spirit
Anybody may pass； any day； in the thronged thoroughfares of the
metropolis； some meagre； wrinkled； yellow old man （who might be supposed
to have dropped from the stars； if there were any star in the Heavens
dull enough to be suspected of casting off so feeble a spark）； creeping
along with a scared air； as though bewildered and a little frightened
by the noise and bustle。 This old man is always a little old man。 If he
were ever a big old man； he has shrunk into a little old man； if he were
always a little old man； he has dwindled into a less old man。 His coat
is a colour； and cut； that never was the mode anywhere； at any period。
Clearly； it was not made for him； or for any individual mortal。 Some
wholesale contractor measured Fate for five thousand coats of such
quality； and Fate has lent this old coat to this old man； as one of a
long unfinished line of many old men。 It has always large dull metal
buttons； similar to no other buttons。 This old man wears a hat； a
thumbed and napless and yet an obdurate hat； which has never adapted
itself to the shape of his poor head。 His coarse shirt and his coarse
neckcloth have no more individuality than his coat and hat； they have
the same character of not being his……of not being anybody's。 Yet this
old man wears these clothes with a certain unaccustomed air of being
dressed and elaborated for the public ways； as though he passed the
greater part of his time in a nightcap and gown。 And so； like the
country mouse in the second year of a famine； e to see the town
mouse； and timidly threading his way to the town…mouse's lodging through
a city of cats； this old man passes in the streets。
Sometimes； on holidays towards evening； he will be seen to walk with a
slightly increased infirmity； and his old eyes will glimmer with a moist
and marshy light。 Then the little old man is drunk。 A very small
measure will overset him； he may be bowled off his unsteady legs with
a half…pint pot。 Some pitying acquaintance……chance acquaintance
very often……has warmed up his weakness with a treat of beer； and the
consequence will be the lapse of a longer time than usual before he
shall pass again。 For the little old man is going home to the Workhouse；
and on his good behaviour they do not let him out often （though methinks
they might； considering the few years he has before him to go out in；
under the sun）； and on his bad behaviour they shut him up closer than
ever in a grove of two score and nieen more old men； every one of
whom smells of all the others。
Mrs Plornish's father；……a poor little reedy piping old gentleman； like
a worn…out bird； who had been in what he called the music…binding
business； and met with great misfortunes； and who had seldom been able
to make his way； or to see it or to pay it； or to do anything at all
with it but find it no thoroughfare；……had retired of his own accord to
the Workhouse which was appointed by law to be the Good Samaritan of his
district （without the twopence； which was bad political economy）； on
the settlement of that execution which had carried Mr Plornish to the
Marshalsea College。 Previous to his son…in…law's difficulties ing to
that head； Old Nandy （he was always so called in his legal Retreat； but
he was Old Mr Nandy among the Bleeding Hearts） had sat in a corner of
the Plornish fireside； and taken his bite and sup out of the Plornish
cupboard。 He still hoped to resume that domestic position when Fortune
should smile upon his son…in…law； in the meantime； while she preserved
an immovable countenance； he was； and resolved to remain； one of these
little old men in a grove of little old men with a munity of flavour。
But no poverty in him； and no coat on him that never was the mode； and
no Old Men's Ward for his dwelling…place； could quench his daughter's
admiration。 Mrs Plornish was as proud of her father's talents as she
could possibly have been if they had made him Lord Chancellor。 She had
as firm a belief in the sweetness and propriety of his manners as she
could possibly have had if he had been Lord Chamberlain。 The poor little
old man knew some pale and vapid little songs； long out of date； about
Chloe； and Phyllis； and Strephon being wounded by the son of Venus；
and for Mrs Plornish there was no such music at the Opera as the small
internal flutterings and chirpings wherein he would discharge himself
of these ditties； like a weak； little； broken barrel…organ； ground by
a baby。 On his 'days out；' those flecks of light in his flat vista of
pollard old men；' it was at once Mrs Plornish's delight and sorrow；
when he was strong with meat；