 in
no small surprise, a few digressive words are necessary.
    Mr. Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into the
possession of a certain portion of his worldly wealth, »which,« as he had been
wont, during his last half-year's probation, to communicate to Mr. Feeder every
evening as a new discovery, »the executors couldn't keep him out of,« had
applied himself, with great diligence, to the science of Life. Fired with a
noble emulation to pursue a brilliant and distinguished career, Mr. Toots had
furnished a choice set of apartments; had established among them a sporting
bower, embellished with the portraits of winning horses, in which he took no
particle of interest; and a divan, which made him poorly. In this delicious
abode, Mr. Toots devoted himself to the cultivation of those gentle arts which
refine and humanise existence, his chief instructor in which was an interesting
character called the Game Chicken, who was always to be heard of at the bar of
the Black Badger, wore a shaggy white great-coat in the warmest weather, and
knocked Mr. Toots about the head three times a week, for the small consideration
of ten and six per visit.
    The Game Chicken, who was quite the Apollo of Mr. Toots's Pantheon, had
introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who taught
fencing, a job-master who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who was up to
anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends connected no less
intimately with the fine arts. Under whose auspices Mr. Toots could hardly fail
to improve apace, and under whose tuition he went to work.
    But however it came about, it came to pass, even while these gentlemen had
the gloss of novelty upon them, that Mr. Toots felt, he didn't know how,
unsettled and uneasy. There were husks in his corn, that even Game Chickens
couldn't peck up; gloomy giants in his leisure, that even Game Chickens couldn't
knock down. Nothing seemed to do Mr. Toots so much good as incessantly leaving
cards at Mr. Dombey's door. No tax-gatherer in the British dominions - that
wide-spread territory on which the sun never sets, and where the tax-gatherer
never goes to bed - was more regular and persevering in his calls than Mr.
Toots.
    Mr. Toots never went up stairs; and always performed the same ceremonies,
richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.
    »Oh
