In a corner was a heap of coats and boat-cloaks, and a flag, all bundled up together.
They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of manner, when we came in, and said, 'Halloa, Murdstone! We thought you were dead!' 'Not yet,' said Mr.Murdstone.
'And who's this shaver ?' said one of the gentlemen, taking hold of me.
'That's Davy,' returned Mr.Murdstone.
'Davy who ?' said the gentleman.

'Jones ?' 'Copperfield,' said Mr.Murdstone.
'What! Bewitching Mrs.Copperfield's encumbrance ?' cried the gentleman.
'The pretty little widow ?' 'Quinion,' said Mr.Murdstone, 'take care, if you please.

Somebody's sharp.' 'Who is ?' asked the gentleman, laughing.

I looked up, quickly; being curious to know.
'Only Brooks of Sheffield,' said Mr.Murdstone.
I was quite relieved to find that it was only Brooks of Sheffield; for, at first, I really thought it was I.
There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr.
Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when he was mentioned, and Mr.Murdstone was a good deal amused also.

After some laughing, the gentleman whom he had called Quinion, said: 'And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to the projected business ?' 'Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much about it at present,' replied Mr.Murdstone; 'but he is not generally favourable, I believe.' There was more laughter at this, and Mr.Quinion said he would ring the bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks.