Within an hour of the receipt of this dispatch and Mr. James Harthouse’s card, Mr. Bounderby put on his hat and went down to the Hotel. There he found Mr. James Harthouse looking out of window, in a state of mind so disconsolate, that he was already half-disposed to ‘go in’ for something else.
‘My name, sir,’ said his visitor, ‘is Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown.’
Mr. James Harthouse was very happy indeed (though he scarcely looked so) to have a pleasure he had long expected.
‘Coketown, sir,’ said Bounderby, obstinately taking a chair, ‘is not the kind of place you have been accustomed to. Therefore, if you will allow me — or whether you will or not, for I am a