When it was time for Florence to go to bed, the nurse urged her
to say good night to her father, but the child hesitated, and Mr. Dombey
called from the inner room; "It doesn't matter. You can let her come and
go without regarding me."
The child shrunk as she listened, and was gone before her humble friend
looked around again.
* * * * *
Just around the corner from Mr. Dombey's office was the little shop of a
nautical-instrument maker whose name was Solomon Gills. The
stock-in-trade of this old gentleman comprised chronometers, barometers,
telescopes, compasses, charts, maps, and every kind of an instrument
used in the working of a ship's course, or the keeping of a ship's
reckoning, or the prosecuting of a ship's discovery. Old prints of ships
hung in frames upon the walls; outlandish shells, seaweeds and mosses
decorated the chimney-piece; the little wainscoted parlor was lighted by
a skylight, like a cabin, The shop itself seemed almost to become a
sea-going ship-shape concern, wanting only good sea room, in the event
of an unexpected launch, to work its way securely to any desert island
in the world.
Here Solomon Gills lived, in skipper-like state, all alone with his
nephew, Walter; a boy of fourteen, who looked quite enough like a
midshipman to carry out the prevailing idea.
It is half past five o'clock, and an autumn afternoon. Solomon Gills is
wondering where Walter is, when a voice exclaims, "Halloa, Uncle Sol!"
and the instrument-maker, turning briskly around, sees a
cheerful-looking, merry boy fresh with running home in the rain;
fair-faced, bright-eyed and curly-haired.
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