On one of the streets of the City was a building that had an ancient sign, Dombey and Son. It had been there many years, since the time when the original Dombey had taken his son into partnership. The Dombeys owned a great many ships that sailed to the West Indies and the East Indies, and wherever they could make money on their voyages. Up to this time, each Dombey had been a good business man and had taught his son how to save and how to venture wisely. So that the Dombeys had become richer and richer. All had gone well with them; but there had come a time when there was a Dombey who hadn’t any son. Mr. and Mrs. Dombey had a daughter named Florence, who was a very nice little girl. Her mother loved her dearly, but her father thought she didn’t amount to much, because he couldn’t put on the sign on his office the words, “Dombey and Daughter.” That wouldn’t have sounded right in the days of good Queen Victoria. He wanted the name to be always Dombey and Son. [Illustration: _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ PAUL DOMBEY AND FLORENCE ON THE BEACH AT BRIGHTON] When at last a boy was born, Mr. Dombey was delighted. He dreamed of a time when little Paul would grow up to be a man just like himself, and would take his place in the office and make everybody afraid of him. He should be the Prince while his father was King in the Kingdom of Dombey and Son. All this was very pleasant to think about, and it seemed as if the business in the City would go on forever. But while Mr. Dombey dreamed of what his son would do when he was grown up, he didn’t do anything to help him grow. Paul was a poor little rich boy, who lived in a big, uncomfortable house, and was sent to school with other poor little rich boys. I’m sorry for little Paul, but I don’t care to read about him very much. It’s a relief to meet the people who didn’t have any money, for they seem so much more cheerful than any of the Dombeys. There was Toodles, the husband of little Paul’s nurse. Mr. Dombey wanted to find out all about him. “Mr. What’s-your-name, you have a son, I believe.” “Four on ’em, sir. Four hims and a her. All alive.” “Why, it’s as much as you can afford to keep them!” said Mr. Dombey. “I couldn’t afford but one thing in the world less, sir.” “What is that?” “To lose ’em, sir.” “Can you read?” asked Mr. Dombey. “Why, not partik’ler, sir.” “Write?” “With chalk, sir?” “With anything.” “I could make shift to chalk a bit, I think, if I were put to it,” said Toodles after some reflection. “And yet,” said Mr. Dombey, “you are two or three-and-thirty, I suppose.” “Thereabouts, I suppose, sir,” answered Toodles after more reflection. “Then why don’t you learn?” asked Mr. Dombey. “So I’m agoing to, sir. One of my little boys is agoing to learn me when he’s old enough, and been to school himself.”