I heard that one boy, who was a coal-merchant’s son, came as a set-off against the coal-bill, and was called, on that account, “Exchange or Barter”—a name selected from the arithmetic book as expressing this arrangement. I heard that the table beer was a robbery of parents, and the pudding an imposition. I heard that Miss Creakle was regarded by the school in general as being in love with Steerforth; and I am sure, as I sat in the dark, thinking of his nice voice, and his fine face, and his easy manner, and his curling hair, I thought it very likely. I heard that Mr. Mell was not a bad sort of fellow, but hadn’t a sixpence to bless himself with; and that there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mell, his mother, was as poor as Job. I thought of my breakfast then, and what had sounded like “My Charley!” but I was, I am glad to remember, as mute as a mouse about it.
The hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted the banquet some time. The greater part of the guests had gone to bed as soon as the eating and drinking were over; and we, who had remained whispering and listening half-undressed, at last betook ourselves to bed, too.
“Good night, young Copperfield,” said Steerforth. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You’re very kind,” I gratefully returned. “I am very much obliged to you.”
“You haven’t got a sister, have you?” said Steerforth, yawning.
“No,” I answered.
“That’s a pity,” said Steerforth. “If you had had one, I should think she would have been a pretty, timid, little, bright-eyed sort of girl. I should have liked to know her. Good night, young Copperfield.”
“Good night, sir,” I replied.