"Good gracious!" "Well, I never!" "Who'd ha' thought it?" and various
other disjointed mutterings escaped my father, forming a sort of running
commentary upon the document under his perusal. Having duly devoured the
contents, he spread the sheet of paper carefully out, re-wiped his
spectacles, and again commenced the former all-engrossing subject.
"Tom, my boy, you are all right, and this will do for you. Here's a letter
from your uncle Ticket."
I nodded in silence.
"Yes, sir," continued my father, with increasing emphasis and peculiar
dignity, "Ticket--the great Ticket--the greatest"--
"Pawnbroker in London," said I, finishing the sentence.
"Yes, sir, he is; and what of that?"
"Nothing further; I don't much like the trade, but"--
"But he's your uncle, sir. It's a glorious money-making business. He
offers to take you as an apprentice. Nancy, my love, pack up this lad's
things, and start him off by the mail to-morrow. Go to bed, Tom."
So the die was cast! The mail was punctual; and I was duly delivered to
Ticket--the great Ticket--my maternal, and everybody else's undefinable,
uncle.
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