"But I know what's killing you. It's the confinement; it's the bad air you breathe; it's the smoke of London. Oh yes, I know your old excuse: you never found the air bad before. Perhaps not. But as people grow older, and get on in trade--and, after all, we've nothing to complain of, Caudle--London air always disagrees with 'em. Delicate health comes with money: I'm sure of it. What a colour you had once, when you'd hardly a sixpence; and now, look at you! "'Twould add thirty years to your life--and think what a blessing that would be to me; not that I shall live a tenth part of the time-- thirty years, if you'd take a nice little house somewhere at Brixton. "YOU HATE BRIXTON? "I must say it, Caudle, that's so like you: any place that's really genteel you can't abide. Now Brixton and Baalam Hill I think delightful. So select! There, nobody visits nobody, unless they're somebody. To say nothing of the delightful pews that make the churches so respectable! "However, do as you like. If you won't go to Brixton, what do you say to Clapham Common? Oh, that's a very fine story! Never tell me! No; you wouldn't be left alone, a Robinson Crusoe with wife and children, because you're in the retail way. What? "THE RETIRED WHOLESALES NEVER VISIT THE RETIRED RETAILS AT CLAPHAM? "Ha! that's only your old sneering at the world, Mr. Caudle; but I don't believe it. And after all, people should keep to their station, or what was this life made for? Suppose a tallow-merchant does keep himself above a tallow-chandler,--I call it only a proper pride. What? "YOU CALL IT THE ARISTOCRACY OF FAT? "I don't know what you mean by 'aristocracy'; but I suppose it's only another of your dictionary words, that's hardly worth the finding out. "What do you say to Hornsey or Muswell Hill? Eh? "TOO HIGH? "What a man you are! Well, then--Battersea? "TOO LOW? "You're an aggravating creature, Caudle, you must own that! Hampstead, then? "TOO COLD? "Nonsense; it would brace you up like a drum,--Caudle; and that's what you want. But you don't deserve anybody to think of your health or your comforts either. There's some pretty spots, I'm told, about Fulham. Now, Caudle, I won't have you say a word against Fulham. That must be a sweet place: dry and healthy, and every comfort of life about it--else is it likely that a bishop would live there? Now, Caudle, none of your heathen principles--I won't hear 'em. I think what satisfies a bishop ought to content you; but the politics you learn at that club are dreadful. To hear you talk of bishops-- well, I only hope nothing will happen to you, for the sake of the dear children!