'And if, my dear Frederick--if you could, without putting any great
constraint upon yourself, throw a little (pray excuse me, Frederick), a
little Polish into your usual demeanour--'
'William, William,' said the other, shaking his head, 'it's for you to
do all that. I don't know how. All forgotten, forgotten!'
'But, my dear fellow,' returned William, 'for that very reason, if
for no other, you must positively try to rouse yourself. What you
have forgotten you must now begin to recall, my dear Frederick. Your
position--' 'Eh?' said Frederick. 'Your position, my dear Frederick.' 'Mine?'
He looked first at his own figure, and then at his brother's,
and then, drawing a long breath, cried, 'Hah, to be sure! Yes, yes,
yes.' 'Your position, my dear Frederick, is now a fine one. Your
position, as my brother, is a very fine one. And I know that it belongs
to your conscientious nature to try to become worthy of it, my dear
Frederick, and to try to adorn it. To be no discredit to it, but to
adorn it.' 'William,' said the other weakly, and with a sigh, 'I will do anything
you wish, my brother, provided it lies in my power. Pray be so kind as
to recollect what a limited power mine is. What would you wish me to do
to-day, brother? Say what it is, only say what it is.'
'My dearest Frederick, nothing. It is not worth troubling so good a
heart as yours with.' 'Pray trouble it,' returned the other. 'It finds it no trouble, William,
to do anything it can for you.' William passed his hand across his eyes, and murmured with august
satisfaction, 'Blessings on your attachment, my poor dear fellow!' Then
he said aloud, 'Well, my dear Frederick, if you will only try, as we
walk out, to show that you are alive to the occasion--that you think
about it--' 'What would you advise me to think about it?' returned his submissive
brother. 'Oh! my dear Frederick, how can I answer you? I can only say what, in
leaving these good people, I think myself.' 'That's it!' cried his brother.
'That will help me.' 'I find that I think, my dear Frederick, and with mixed emotions in
which a softened compassion predominates, What will they do without me!' 'True,' returned his brother. 'Yes, yes, yes, yes. I'll think that as we
go, What will they do without my brother! Poor things! What will they do
without him!' Twelve o'clock having just struck, and the carriage being reported ready
in the outer court-yard, the brothers proceeded down-stairs arm-in-arm.
Edward Dorrit, Esquire (once Tip), and his sister Fanny followed,
also arm-in-arm; Mr Plornish and Maggy, to whom had been entrusted the
removal of such of the family effects as were considered worth removing,
followed, bearing bundles and burdens to be packed in a cart.