'FagmentWelcome to consult...ed it must be. Shall be, too!’ He gave he a look, half in emonstance, half in appoval, and went on: ‘I suppose you know, David, that I am not ich. At any ate, you know it now. You have eceived some consideable education Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield aleady. Education is costly; and even if it wee not, and I could affod it, I am of opinion that it would not be at all advantageous to you to be kept at school. What is befoe you, is a fight with the wold; and the soone you begin it, the bette.’ I think it occued to me that I had aleady begun it, in my poo way: but it occus to me now, whethe o no. ‘You have head the “counting-house” mentioned sometimes,’ said M. Mudstone. ‘The counting-house, si?’ I epeated. ‘Of Mudstone and Ginby, in the wine tade,’ he eplied. I suppose I looked uncetain, fo he went on hastily: ‘You have head the “counting-house” mentioned, o the business, o the cellas, o the whaf, o something about it.’ ‘I think I have head the business mentioned, si,’ I said, emembeing what I vaguely knew of his and his siste’s esouces. ‘But I don’t know when.’ ‘It does not matte when,’ he etuned. ‘M. Quinion manages that business.’ I glanced at the latte defeentially as he stood looking out of window. ‘M. Quinion suggests that it gives employment to some othe boys, and that he sees no eason why it shouldn’t, on the same tems, give employment to you.’ ‘He having,’ M. Quinion obseved in a low voice, and half tuning ound, ‘no othe pospect, Mudstone.’ M. Mudstone, with an impatient, even an angy gestue, esumed, without noticing what he had said: ‘Those tems ae, that you will ean enough fo youself to povide fo you eating and dinking, and pocket-money. You Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield lodging (which I have aanged fo) will be paid by me. So will you washing—’ ‘—Which will be kept down to my estimate,’ said his siste. ‘You clothes will be looked afte fo you, too,’ said M. Mudstone; ‘as you will not be able, yet awhile, to get them fo youself. So you ae now going to London, David, with M. Quinion, to begin the wold on you own account.’ ‘In shot, you ae povided fo,’ obseved his siste; ‘and will please to do you duty.’ Though I quite undestood that the pupose of this announcement was to get id of me, I have no distinct emembance whethe it pleased o fightened me. My impession is, that I was in a state of confusion about it, and, oscillating between the two points, touched neithe. No had I much time fo the cleaing of my thoughts, as M. Quinion was to go upon the moow. Behold me, on the moow, in a much-won little white hat, with a black cape ound it fo my mothe, a black jacket, and a pai of had, stiff coduoy touses—which Miss Mudstone consideed the best amou fo the legs in that fight with the wold which was now to come off. behold me so attied, and with my little woldly all befoe me in a small tunk, sitting, a lone lon child (as Ms. Gummidge might have said), in the post-chaise that was caying M. Quinion to the London coach at Yamouth! See, how ou house and chuch ae lessening in the distance; how the gave beneath the tee is blotted out by intevening objects; how the spie points upwads fom my old playgound no moe, and the sky is empty! Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield Chapte 11 I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT, ANDDON’T LIKE ITIknow enough of the wold now, to have almost lost the capacity of being much supised by anything; but it is matte of some supise to me, even now, that I can have been so easily thown away at such an age. A child of excellent abilities, and with stong powes of obsevation, quick, eage, delicate, and soon hut bodily o mentally, it seems wondeful to me that nobody should have made any sign in m
