It was not till
this present month of November, eighteen hundred and fifty, that Mr.
Franklin came into my room, in high good spirits, and said, "Betteredge!
I have got some news for you! Something is going to happen in the house,
before we are many months older."
"Does it concern the family, sir?" I asked.
"It decidedly concerns the family," says Mr. Franklin. "Has your good
lady anything to do with it, if you please, sir?"
"She has a great deal to do with it," says Mr. Franklin, beginning to
look a little surprised.
"You needn't say a word more, sir," I answered. "God bless you both! I'm
heartily glad to hear it."
Mr. Franklin stared like a person thunderstruck. "May I venture to
inquire where you got your information?" he asked. "I only got mine
(imparted in the strictest secrecy) five minutes since."
Here was an opportunity of producing ROBINSON CRUSOE! Here was a chance
of reading that domestic bit about the child which I had marked on the
day of Mr. Franklin's marriage! I read those miraculous words with an
emphasis which did them justice, and then I looked him severely in the
face. "NOW, sir, do you believe in ROBINSON CRUSOE?" I asked, with a
solemnity, suitable to the occasion.
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