'
'How am I an interested one?' inquired Mr. Crisparkle, smiling
innocently, at a loss to imagine.
'There was a certain stipend, sir, paid to you for your pupil,
which may have warped your judgment a bit,' said Mr. Honeythunder,
coarsely.
'Perhaps I expect to retain it still?' Mr. Crisparkle returned,
enlightened; 'do you mean that too?'
'Well, sir,' returned the professional Philanthropist, getting up
and thrusting his hands down into his trousers-pockets, 'I don't go
about measuring people for caps. If people find I have any about
me that fit 'em, they can put 'em on and wear 'em, if they like.
That's their look out: not mine.'
Mr. Crisparkle eyed him with a just indignation, and took him to
task thus:
'Mr. Honeythunder, I hoped when I came in here that I might be
under no necessity of commenting on the introduction of platform
manners or platform manoeuvres among the decent forbearances of
private life. But you have given me such a specimen of both, that
I should be a fit subject for both if I remained silent respecting
them. They are detestable.'
'They don't suit YOU, I dare say, sir.'
'They are,' repeated Mr. Crisparkle, without noticing the
interruption, 'detestable. They violate equally the justice that
should belong to Christians, and the restraints that should belong
to gentlemen. You assume a great crime to have been committed by
one whom I, acquainted with the attendant circumstances, and having
numerous reasons on my side, devoutly believe to be innocent of it.
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