“And now we’ve settled this Newcastle business, Tom,” said Mr. Deane, that same afternoon, as they were seated in the private room at the Bank together, “there’s another matter I want to talk to you about. Since you’re likely to have rather a smoky, unpleasant time of it at Newcastle for the next few weeks, you’ll want a good prospect¹ of some sort to keep up your spirits.”

Tom waited less nervously² than he had done on a former occasion in this apartment, while his uncle took out his snuff-box and gratified each nostril³ with deliberate impartiality⁴.

“You see, Tom,” said Mr. Deane at last, throwing himself backward, “the world goes on at a smarter pace now than it did when I was a young fellow. Why, sir, forty years ago, when I was much such a strapping⁵ youngster as you, a man expected to pull between the shafts⁶ the best part of his life, before he got the whip in his hand. The looms⁷ went slowish, and fashions didn’t alter quite so fast; I’d a best suit that lasted me six years. Everything was on a lower scale, sir — in point of expenditure⁸, I mean. It’s this steam, you see, that has made the difference; it drives on every wheel double pace, and the wheel of fortune along with ’em, as our Mr. Stephen Guest said at the anniversary dinner (he hits these things off wonderfully, considering he’s seen nothing of business). I don’t find fault with the change, as some people do. Trade, sir, opens a man’s eyes; and if the population is to get thicker upon the ground, as it’s doing, the world must use its wits at inventions of one sort or other. I know I’ve done my share as an ordinary man of business. Somebody has said it’s a fine thing to make two ears of corn grow where only one grew before; but, sir, it’s a fine thing, too, to further the exchange of commodities, and bring the grains of corn to the mouths that are hungry. And that’s our line of business; and I consider it as honorable a position as a man can hold, to be connected with it.”

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