"You mean, I suppose." observed the instrument-maker, "that you didn't seem to like him much." "Well, uncle," returned the boy laughing, "perhaps so; I never thought of that." Solomon looked a little graver as he finished his dinner, and glanced from time to time at the boy's bright face. When dinner was done, he went down into a little cellar, and returned with a bottle covered with dust and dirt. "Why, uncle Sol!" said the boy, "What are you about? that's the wonderful Madeira--there's only one more bottle!" Uncle Sol nodded his head, and having drawn the cork in solemn silence, filled two glasses, and set the bottle and a third clean glass on the table. "You shall drink the other bottle, Wally," he said, "When you come to good fortune; when you are a thriving, respected, happy man; when the start in life you have made to-day shall have brought you--as I pray Heaven it may!--to a smooth part of the course you have to run, my child. My love to you!" They clinked their glasses together, and were deep in conversation, when an addition to the little party made its appearance, in the shape of a gentleman with a hook instead of a hand attached to his right wrist; very bushy black eyebrows; and a thick stick in his left hand, covered all over (like his nose) with knobs. He wore a loose black silk handkerchief round his neck, and such a very large shirt-collar that it looked like a small sail over his wide suit of blue. He was evidently the person for whom the spare wineglass was intended, and evidently knew it; for having taken off his coat, and hung up his hard glazed hat, he brought a chair to where the clean glass was, and sat himself down behind it. He was usually addressed as Captain, this visitor; and had been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateer's man, or all three perhaps; and was a very salt looking man indeed. His face brightened as he shook hands with uncle and nephew; but he seemed to be of a laconic disposition, and merely said: "How goes it?" "All well," said Mr. Gills, pushing the bottle towards the new-comer, Captain Cuttle, who thereupon proceeded to fill his glass, and the wonderful Madeira loosened his tongue to the extent of giving utterance to a prodigous oration for Walter's benefit. "Come," cried Solomon Gills, "we must finish the bottle." "Stand by!" said Captain Cuttle, filling his glass again. "Give the boy some more." "Yes," said Sol, "a little more. We'll finish the bottle to the House,--Walter's house. Why, it may be his house one of these days, in part. Who knows? Sir Richard Whittington married his master's daughter." "Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old, you will never depart from it," interposed the Captain. "Wal'r, overhaul the book, my lad!" "And although Mr. Dombey hasn't a daughter--" Sol began.