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Enthusiasm

           Dickonthecarpet.

           ‘Yousee,’saidMr.Dick,wistfully,‘ifIcouldexertmyself,Mr.TraddlesifIcouldbeatadrum-orblowanything!’

           Poorfellow!Ihavelittledoubthewouldhavepreferredsuchanemploymentinhishearttoallothers.Traddles,whowouldnothavesmiledfortheworld,repliedcomposedly:

           ‘Butyouareaverygoodpenman,sir.Youtoldmeso,Copperfield?’‘Excellent!’saidI.Andindeedhewas.Hewrotewithextraordinaryneatness.

           ‘Don’tyouthink,’saidTraddles,‘youcouldcopywritings,sir,ifIgotthemforyou?’

           Mr.Dicklookeddoubtfullyatme.‘Eh,Trotwood?’

           Ishookmyhead.Mr.Dickshookhis,andsighed.‘TellhimabouttheMemorial,’saidMr.Dick.

           IexplainedtoTraddlesthattherewasadifficultyinkeepingKingCharlestheFirstoutofMr.Dick’smanuscripts;Mr.DickinthemeanwhilelookingverydeferentiallyandseriouslyatTraddles,andsuckinghisthumb.

           ‘Butthesewritings,youknow,thatIspeakof,arealreadydrawnupandfinished,’saidTraddlesafteralittleconsideration.‘Mr.Dickhasnothingtodowiththem.Wouldn’tthatmakeadifference,Copperfield?Atallevents,wouldn’titbewelltotry?’

           Thisgaveusnewhope.TraddlesandIlayingourheadstogetherapart,whileMr.

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