.«
    »Do you really?« said Mr. Skimpole; »I dare say! But, I confess I don't see
why our young friend, in his degree, should not seek to invest himself with such
poetry as is open to him. He is no doubt born with an appetite - probably, when
he is in a safer state of health, he has an excellent appetite. Very well. At
our young friend's natural dinner hour, most likely about noon, our young friend
says in effect to society, I am hungry; will you have the goodness to produce
your spoon, and feed me? Society, which has taken upon itself the general
arrangement of the whole system of spoons, and professes to have a spoon for our
young friend, does not produce that spoon; and our young friend, therefore,
says, You really must excuse me if I seize it. Now, this appears to me a case of
misdirected energy, which has a certain amount of reason in it, and a certain
amount of romance; and I don't know but what I should be more interested in our
young friend, as an illustration of such a case, than merely as a poor vagabond
- which any one can be.«
    »In the meantime,« I ventured to observe, »he is getting worse.«
    »In the meantime,« said Mr. Skimpole cheerfully, »as Miss Summerson, with
her practical good sense, observes, he is getting worse. Therefore I recommend
your turning him out before he gets still worse.«
    The amiable face with which he said it, I think I shall never forget.
    »Of course, little woman,« observed my guardian, turning to me, »I can
ensure his admission into the proper place by merely going there to enforce it,
though it's a bad state of things when, in his condition, that is necessary. But
it's growing late, and is a very bad night, and the boy is worn out already.
There is a bed in the wholesome loft-room by the stable; we had better keep him
there till morning, when he can be wrapped up and removed. We'll do that.«
    »O!« said Mr. Skimpole, with his hands upon the keys of the piano, as we
moved away. »Are you going back to our young friend?«
    »Yes,« said my guardian.
    »How I envy you your constitution, Jarndyce!« returned Mr. Skimpole, with
playful admiration.