Although we appeared at the stipulated place a quarter of an hour before the time, we found Mr. Micawber already there. He was standing with his arms folded, over against the wall, looking at the spikes on the top, with a sentimental expression, as if they were the interlacing boughs of trees that had shaded him in his youth.
When we accosted him, his manner was something more confused, and something less genteel, than of yore. He had relinquished his legal suit of black for the purposes of this excursion, and wore the old surtout and tights, but not quite with the old air. He gradually picked up more and more of it as we conversed with him; but, his very eyeglass seemed to hang less easily, and his shirt-collar, though still of the old formidable dimensions, rather drooped.
“Gentlemen!” said Mr. Micawber, after the first salutations, “you are friends in need, and friends indeed. Allow me to offer my inquiries with reference to the physical welfare of Mrs. Copperfield in esse , and Mrs. Traddles in posse —presuming, that is to say, that my friend Mr. Traddles is not yet united to the object of his affections, for weal and for woe.”
We acknowledged his politeness, and made suitable replies. He then directed our attention to the wall, and was beginning, “I assure you, gentlemen,” when I ventured to object to that ceremonious form of address, and to beg that he would speak to us in the old way.
“My dear Copperfield,” he returned, pressing my hand, “your cordiality overpowers me. This reception of a shattered fragment of the Temple once called Man—if I may be permitted so to express myself—bespeaks a heart that is an honour to our common nature. I was about to observe that I again behold the serene spot where some of the happiest hours of my existence fleeted by.”