I say, uncle, isn't this an
adventure?"
"My dear boy," said Solomon, "it is the most extraordinary--"
"No, but do, uncle, please--do, Miss Florence--dinner, you know, uncle."
"Yes, yes, yes," cutting instantly into a leg of mutton, as if he were
catering for a giant. "I'll take care of her, Wally! Pretty dear!
Famished, of course. You go and get ready. Lord bless me! Sir Richard
Whittington, thrice Mayor of London!"
While Walter was preparing to leave, Florence, overcome by fatigue, had
sunk into a doze before the fire and when the boy returned, she was
sleeping peacefully.
"That's capital!" he whispered, "Don't wake her, uncle Sol!"
"No, no," answered Solomon, "Pretty child!"
"_Pretty_, indeed!" cried Walter, "I never saw such a face! Now I'm
off."
Arriving at Mr. Dombey's house, and breathlessly announcing his errand
to the servant, Walter was shown into the library, where he confronted
Mr. Dombey.
"Oh! beg your pardon, sir," said Walter, rushing up to him; "but I'm
happy to say, it's all right, sir. Miss Dombey's found!"
"I told you she would certainly be found," said Mr. Dombey calmly, to
the others in the room. "Let the servants know that no further steps are
necessary. This boy who brings the information is young Gay from the
office. How was my daughter found, sir? I know how she was lost." Here
he looked majestically at Richards. "But how was she found? Who
found her?"
It was quite out of Walter's power to be coherent, but he rendered
himself as explanatory as he could, in his breathless state, and told
why he had come alone.
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