As though he had been called into existence, like a fabulous Familiar, by a magic spell which had failed when required to dismiss him, he stuck tight to Mr.Grewgious's stool, although Mr.Grewgious's comfort and convenience would manifestly have been advanced by dispossessing him.

A gloomy person with tangled locks, and a general air of having been reared under the shadow of that baleful tree of Java which has given shelter to more lies than the whole botanical kingdom, Mr.Grewgious, nevertheless, treated him with unaccountable consideration.
'Now, Bazzard,' said Mr.Grewgious, on the entrance of his clerk: looking up from his papers as he arranged them for the night: 'what is in the wind besides fog ?' 'Mr.Drood,' said Bazzard.
'What of him ?' 'Has called,' said Bazzard.
'You might have shown him in.' 'I am doing it,' said Bazzard.
The visitor came in accordingly.
'Dear me!' said Mr.Grewgious, looking round his pair of office candles.
'I thought you had called and merely left your name and gone.

How do you do, Mr.Edwin?
Dear me, you're choking!' 'It's this fog,' returned Edwin; 'and it makes my eyes smart, like Cayenne pepper.' 'Is it really so bad as that?
Pray undo your wrappers.

It's fortunate I have so good a fire; but Mr.Bazzard has taken care of me.' 'No I haven't,' said Mr.Bazzard at the door.
'Ah! then it follows that I must have taken care of myself without observing it,' said Mr.Grewgious.

'Pray be seated in my chair.