the further haven of consolation that any number of people will take the trouble off your hands.”
“Well! I don’t quite see it,” retorted Mr. Boffin, still perplexed. “That’s not satisfactory, you know, what you’re a-saying.”
“Is anything satisfactory, Mr. Boffin?” asked Mortimer, raising his eyebrows.
“I used to find it so,” answered Mr. Boffin, with a wistful look. “While I was foreman at the Bower—afore it was the Bower—I considered the business very satisfactory. The old man was a awful Tartar (saying it, I’m sure, without disrespect to his memory) but the business was a pleasant one to look after, from before daylight to past dark. It’s a’most a pity,” said Mr. Boffin, rubbing his ear, “that he ever went and made so much money. It would have been better for him if he hadn’t so given himself up to it. You may depend upon it,” making the discovery all of a sudden, “that he found it a great lot to take care of!”