But we were not in condition to judge of this fact from the appearance of the gravy, forasmuch as the ‘young gal’ had dropped it all upon the stairs — where it remained, by the by, in a long train, until it was worn out. The pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the crust being like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full of lumps and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the banquet was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy — about the failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora — if I had not been relieved by the great good humour of my company, and by a bright suggestion from Mr. Micawber.
‘My dear friend Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘accidents will occur in the best-regulated families;