Дэвид Копперфильд

Enthusiasm

           ‘Pardonme!’

           ‘IfyouwilltakesuchtimeasIhave,andthatismymorningsandevenings,andcanthinkitworthseventypoundsayear,youwilldomesuchaserviceasIcannotexpress.’

           ‘Dearme!’saidtheDoctor,innocently.‘Tothinkthatsolittleshouldgoforsomuch!Dear,dear!Andwhenyoucandobetter,youwill?Onyourword,now?’saidtheDoctor,whichhehadalwaysmadeaverygraveappealtothehonourofusboys.

           ‘Onmyword,sir!’Ireturned,answeringinouroldschoolmanner.

           ‘Thenbeitso,’saidtheDoctor,clappingmeontheshoulder,andstillkeepinghishandthere,aswestillwalkedupanddown.

           ‘AndIshallbetwentytimeshappier,sir,’saidI,withalittle-Ihopeinnocentflattery,‘ifmyemploymentistobeontheDictionary.’

           TheDoctorstopped,smilinglyclappedmeontheshoulderagain,andexclaimed,withatriumphmostdelightfultobehold,asifIhadpenetratedtotheprofoundestdepthsofmortalsagacity,‘Mydearyoungfriend,youhavehitit.ItIStheDictionary!’

           Howcoulditbeanythingelse!Hispocketswereasfullofitashishead.Itwasstickingoutofhiminalldirections.Hetoldmethatsincehisretirementfromscholasticlife,hehadbeenadvancingwithitwonderfully;andthatnothingcouldsuithimbetterthantheproposedarrangementsformorningandeveningwork,asitwashiscustomtowalkaboutinthedaytimewithhisconsideringcapon.

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