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‘He’s a monster of meanness!’ said my aunt.

‘Really I don’t know about that,’ observed Traddles thoughtfully. ‘Many people can be very mean, when they give their minds to it.’

‘And now, touching Mr. Micawber,’ said my aunt.

‘Well, really,’ said Traddles, cheerfully, ‘I must, once more, give Mr. Micawber high praise. But for his having been so patient and persevering for so long a time, we never could have hoped to do anything worth speaking of. And I think we ought to consider that Mr. Micawber did right, for right’s sake, when we reflect what terms he might have made with Uriah Heep himself, for his silence.’

‘I think so too,’ said I.

‘Now, what would you give him?’ inquired my aunt.

‘Oh! Before you come to that,’ said Traddles, a little disconcerted, ‘I am afraid I thought it discreet to omit (not being able to carry everything before me) two points, in making this lawless adjustment—for it’s perfectly lawless from beginning to end—of a difficult affair. Those I.O.U.‘s, and so forth, which Mr. Micawber gave him for the advances he had—’

‘Well! They must be paid,’ said my aunt.

‘Yes, but I don’t know when they may be proceeded on, or where they are,’ rejoined Traddles, opening his eyes; ‘and I anticipate, that, between this time and his departure, Mr. Micawber will be constantly arrested, or taken in execution.’

‘Then he must be constantly set free again, and taken out of execution,’ said my aunt. ‘What’s the amount altogether?’

‘Why, Mr. Micawber has entered the transactions—he calls them transactions—with great form, in a book,’ rejoined Traddles, smiling; ‘and he makes the amount a hundred and three pounds, five.’

‘Now, what shall we give him, that sum included?’ said my aunt. ‘Agnes, my dear, you and I can talk about division of it afterwards. What should it be? Five hundred pounds?’

Upon this, Traddles and I both struck in at once. We both recommended a small sum in money, and the payment, without stipulation to Mr. Micawber, of the Uriah claims as they came in. We proposed that the family should have their passage and their outfit, and a hundred pounds; and that Mr. Micawber’s arrangement for the repayment of the advances should be gravely entered into, as it might be wholesome for him to suppose himself under that responsibility. To this, I added the suggestion, that I should give some explanation of his character and history to Mr. Peggotty, who I knew could be relied on; and that to Mr. Peggotty should be quietly entrusted the discretion of advancing another hundred. I further proposed to interest Mr. Micawber in Mr. Peggotty, by confiding so much of Mr. Peggotty’s story to him as I might feel justified in relating, or might think expedient; and to endeavour to bring each of them to bear upon the other, for the common advantage. We all entered warmly into these views; and I may mention at once, that the principals themselves did so, shortly afterwards, with perfect good will and harmony.

Seeing that Traddles now glanced anxiously at my aunt again, I reminded him of the second and last point to which he had adverted.

‘You and your aunt will excuse me, Copperfield, if I touch upon a painful theme, as I greatly fear I shall,’ said Traddles, hesitating; ‘but I think it necessary to bring it to your recollection. On the day of Mr. Micawber’s memorable denunciation a threatening allusion was made by Uriah Heep to your aunt’s—husband.’

My aunt, retaining her stiff position, and apparent composure, assented with a nod.

‘Perhaps,’ observed Traddles, ‘it was mere purposeless impertinence?’

‘No,’ returned my aunt.

‘There was—pardon me—really such a person, and at all in his power?’ hinted Traddles.

‘Yes, my good friend,’ said my aunt.

Traddles, with a perceptible lengthening of his face, explained that he had not been able to approach this subject; that it had shared the fate of Mr. Micawber’s liabilities, in not being comprehended in the terms he had made; that we were no longer of any authority with Uriah Heep; and that if he could do us, or any of us, any injury or annoyance, no doubt he would.

My aunt remained quiet; until again some stray tears found their way to her cheeks. ‘You are quite right,’ she said. ‘It was very thoughtful to mention it.’

‘Can I—or Copperfield—do anything?’ asked Traddles, gently.

‘Nothing,’ said my aunt. ‘I thank you many times. Trot, my dear, a vain threat! Let us have Mr. and Mrs. Micawber back. And don’t any of you speak to me!’ With that she smoothed her dress, and sat, with her upright carriage, looking at the door.

‘Well, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber!’ said my aunt, when they entered. ‘We have been discussing your emigration, with many apologies to you for keeping you out of the room so long; and I’ll tell you what arrangements we propose.’

These she explained to the unbounded satisfaction of the family,—children and all being then present,—and so much to the awakening of Mr. Micawber’s punctual habits in the opening stage of all bill transactions, that he could not be dissuaded from immediately rushing out, in the highest spirits, to buy the stamps for his notes of hand. But, his joy received a sudden check; for within five minutes, he returned in the custody of a sheriff ‘s officer, informing us, in a flood of tears, that all was lost. We, being quite prepared for this event, which was of course a proceeding of Uriah Heep’s, soon paid the money; and in five minutes more Mr. Micawber was seated at the table, filling up the stamps with an expression of perfect joy, which only that congenial employment, or the making of punch, could impart in full completeness to his shining face. To see him at work on the stamps, with the relish of an artist, touching them like pictures, looking at them sideways, taking weighty notes of dates and amounts in his pocket-book, and contemplating them when finished, with a high sense of their precious value, was a sight indeed.

‘Now, the best thing you can do, sir, if you’ll allow me to advise you,’ said my aunt, after silently observing him, ‘is to abjure that occupation for evermore.’

‘Madam,’ replied Mr. Micawber, ‘it is my intention to register such a vow on the virgin page of the future. Mrs. Micawber will attest it. I trust,’ said Mr. Micawber, solemnly, ‘that my son Wilkins will ever bear in mind, that he had infinitely better put his fist in the fire, than use it to handle the serpents that have poisoned the life-blood of his unhappy parent!’ Deeply affected, and changed in a moment to the image of despair, Mr. Micawber regarded the serpents with a look of gloomy abhorrence (in which his late admiration of them was not quite subdued), folded them up and put them in his pocket.