Bounderby. However improbable both Mr. Bounderby and myself might have deemed it years ago, that he would ever become my patron, making me an annual compliment, I cannot but regard him in that light. From Mr. Bounderby I have received every acknowledgement of my social station, and every recognition of my family descent that I could possibly expect. More, far more. Therefore, to my patron I will be scrupulously true. And I do not consider, I will not consider, I cannot consider,” said Mrs. Sparsit, with a most extensive stock on hand of honour and morality, “that I should be scrupulously true, if I allowed names to be mentioned under this roof, that are unfortunately—most unfortunately—no doubt of that—connected with his.”

Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, and again begged pardon.

“No, Bitzer,” continued Mrs. Sparsit, “say an individual, and I will hear you; say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me.”

“With the usual exception, ma’am,” said Bitzer, trying back, “of an individual.”

“Ah—h!” Mrs. Sparsit repeated the ejaculation, the shake of the head over her tea-cup, and the long gulp, as taking up the conversation again at the point where it had been interrupted.

“An individual, ma’am,” said Bitzer, “has never been what he ought to have been since he first came into the place. He is a dissipated, extravagant idler. He is not worth his salt, ma’am. He wouldn’t get it either, if he hadn’t a friend and relation at court, ma’am!”

“Ah—h!” said Mrs. Sparsit, with another melancholy shake of her head.

“I only hope, ma’am,” pursued Bitzer, “that his friend and relation may not supply him with the means of carrying on. Otherwise, ma’am, we know out of whose pocket that money comes.”

“Ah—h!” sighed Mrs. Sparsit again, with another melancholy shake of her head.

“He is to be pitied, ma’am. The last party I have alluded to is to be pitied, ma’am,” said Bitzer.

“Yes, Bitzer,” said Mrs. Sparsit. “I have always pitied the delusion, always.”

“As to an individual, ma’am,” said Bitzer, dropping his voice and drawing nearer, “he is as improvident as any of the people in this town. And you know what their improvidence is, ma’am. No one could wish to know it better than a lady of your eminence does.”

“They would do well,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, “to take example by you, Bitzer.”

“Thank you, ma’am. But since you do refer to me, now look at me, ma’am. I have put by a little, ma’am, already. That gratuity which I receive at Christmas, ma’am—I never touch it. I don’t even go the length of my wages, though they’re not high, ma’am. Why can’t they do as I have done, ma’am? What one person can do, another can do.”

This, again, was among the fictions of Coketown. Any capitalist there who had made sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence always professed to wonder why the sixty thousand nearest Hands didn’t each make sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, and more or less reproached them every one for not accomplishing the little feat. What I did you can do. Why don’t you go and do it?

“As to their wanting recreations, ma’am,” said Bitzer, “it’s stuff and nonsense. I don’t want recreations. I never did, and I never shall; I don’t like ’em. As to their combining together, there are many of them, I have no doubt, that by watching and informing upon one another could earn a trifle now and then, whether in money or good-will, and improve their livelihood. Then, why don’t they improve it, ma’am! It’s the first consideration of a rational creature, and it’s what they pretend to want.”

“Pretend, indeed!” said Mrs. Sparsit.

“I am sure we are constantly hearing, ma’am, till it becomes quite nauseous, concerning their wives and families,” said Bitzer. “Why, look at me, ma’am! I don’t want a wife and family. Why should they?”

“Because they are improvident,” said Mrs. Sparsit.

“Yes, ma’am,” returned Bitzer, “that’s where it is. If they were more provident and less perverse, ma’am, what would they do? They would say, ‘While my hat covers my family,’ or ‘While my bonnet covers my family’—as the case might be, ma’am—‘I have only one to feed, and that’s the person I most like to feed.’ ”

“To be sure,” assented Mrs. Sparsit, eating a muffin.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Bitzer, knuckling his forehead again, in return for the favour of Mrs. Sparsit’s improving conversation. “Would you wish a little more hot water, ma’am, or is there anything else that I could fetch you?”

“Nothing just now, Bitzer.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I shouldn’t wish to disturb