'FagmentWelcome to consult...ot,’ said the stange, with a smile and in a bust of confidence, ‘as a bedoom—the young beginne whom I have now the pleasue to—’ and the stange waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shit-colla. ‘This is M. Micawbe,’ said M. Quinion to me. ‘Ahem!’ said the stange, ‘that is my name.’ ‘M. Micawbe,’ said M. Quinion, ‘is known to M. Mudstone. He takes odes fo us on commission, when he can get any. He has been witten to by M. Mudstone, on the subject of you lodgings, and he will eceive you as a lodge.’ ‘My addess,’ said M. Micawbe, ‘is Windso Teace, City Road. I—in shot,’ said M. Micawbe, with the same genteel ai, and in anothe bust of confidence—‘I live thee.’ I made him a bow. ‘Unde the impession,’ said M. Micawbe, ‘that you peeginations in this metopolis have not as yet been extensive, Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield and that you might have some difficulty in penetating the acana of the Moden Babylon in the diection of the City Road,—in shot,’ said M. Micawbe, in anothe bust of confidence, ‘that you might lose youself—I shall be happy to call this evening, and install you in the knowledge of the neaest way.’ I thanked him with all my heat, fo it was fiendly in him to offe to take that touble. ‘At what hou,’ said M. Micawbe, ‘shall I—’ ‘At about eight,’ said M. Quinion. ‘At about eight,’ said M. Micawbe. ‘I beg to wish you good day, M. Quinion. I will intude no longe.’ So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane unde his am: vey upight, and humming a tune when he was clea of the counting-house. M. Quinion then fomally engaged me to be as useful as I could in the waehouse of Mudstone and Ginby, at a salay, I think, of six shillings a week. I am not clea whethe it was six o seven. I am inclined to believe, fom my uncetainty on this head, that it was six at fist and seven aftewads. He paid me a week down (fom his own pocket, I believe), and I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get my tunk caied to Windso Teace that night: it being too heavy fo my stength, small as it was. I paid sixpence moe fo my dinne, which was a meat pie and a tun at a neighbouing pump; and passed the hou which was allowed fo that meal, in walking about the steets. At the appointed time in the evening, M. Micawbe eappeaed. I washed my hands and face, to do the geate honou to his gentility, and we walked to ou house, as I suppose I must now call it, togethe; M. Micawbe impessing the name of Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield steets, and the shapes of cone houses upon me, as we went along, that I might find my way back, easily, in the moning. Aived at this house in Windso Teace (which I noticed was shabby like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could), he pesented me to Ms. Micawbe, a thin and faded lady, not at all young, who was sitting in the palou (the fist floo was altogethe unfunished, and the blinds wee kept down to delude the neighbous), with a baby at he beast. This baby was one of twins; and I may emak hee that I hadly eve, in all my expeience of the family, saw both the twins detached fom Ms. Micawbe at the same time. One of them was always taking efeshment. Thee wee two othe childen; Maste Micawbe, aged about fou, and Miss Micawbe, aged about thee. These, and a dak-complexioned young woman, with a habit of snoting, who was sevant to the family, and infomed me, befoe half an hou had expied, that she was ‘a Ofling’, and came fom St. Luke’s wokhouse, in the neighbouhood, completed the establishment. My oom was at the top of the house, at the back: a close chambe; stencilled all ove with an onament which my young imagination epesented as a blue muffin; and vey scantily funished. ‘I neve thought,’ s
