William shaking hands with his
father, and patting him on the back, and rubbing him gently down
with his hand, as if he could not possibly do enough to show an
interest in him.
"What a wonderful man you are, father! - How are you, father? Are
you really pretty hearty, though?" said William, shaking hands with
him again, and patting him again, and rubbing him gently down
again.
"I never was fresher or stouter in my life, my boy."
"What a wonderful man you are, father! But that's exactly where it
is," said Mr. William, with enthusiasm. "When I think of all that
my father's gone through, and all the chances and changes, and
sorrows and troubles, that have happened to him in the course of
his long life, and under which his head has grown grey, and years
upon years have gathered on it, I feel as if we couldn't do enough
to honour the old gentleman, and make his old age easy. - How are
you, father? Are you really pretty well, though?"
Mr. William might never have left off repeating this inquiry, and
shaking hands with him again, and patting him again, and rubbing
him down again, if the old man had not espied the Chemist, whom
until now he had not seen.
"I ask your pardon, Mr. Redlaw," said Philip, "but didn't know you
were here, sir, or should have made less free.
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