“You must let them know at home, if you please, Mr. Peggotty,” I said, “when that letter is sent, that Mr. Steerforth is very kind to me, and that I don’t know what I should ever do here without him.”
“Nonsense!” said Steerforth, laughing. “You mustn’t tell them anything of the sort.”
“And if Mr. Steerforth ever comes into Norfolk or Suffolk, Mr. Peggotty,” I said, “while I am there, you may depend upon it I shall bring him to Yarmouth, if he will let me, to see your house. You never saw such a good house, Steerforth. It’s made out of a boat!”
“Made out of a boat, is it?” said Steerforth. “It’s the right sort of a house for such a thorough-built boatman.”
“So ’tis, sir, so ’tis, sir,” said Ham, grinning. “You’re right, young gen’l’m’n! Mas’r Davy bor’, gen’l’m’n’s right. A thorough-built boatman! Hor, hor! That’s what he is, too!”
Mr. Peggotty was no less pleased than his nephew, though his modesty forbade him to claim a personal compliment so vociferously.
“Well, sir,” he said, bowing and chuckling, and tucking in the ends of his neckerchief at his breast: “I thankee, sir, I thankee! I do my endeavours in my line of life, sir.”
“The best of men can do no more, Mr. Peggotty,” said Steerforth. He had got his name already.
“I’ll pound it, it’s wot you do yourself, sir,” said Mr. Peggotty, shaking his head, “and wot you do well—right well! I thankee, sir. I’m obleeged