We made a pleasant journey down into Lincolnshire by the coach and had an entertaining companion in Mr. Skimpole.  His furniture had been all cleared off, it appeared, by the person who took possession of it on his blue-eyed daughter’s birthday, but he seemed quite relieved to think that it was gone.  Chairs and table, he said, were wearisome objects; they were monotonous ideas, they had no variety of expression, they looked you out of countenance, and you looked them out of countenance.  How pleasant, then, to be bound to no particular chairs and tables, but to sport like a butterfly among all the furniture on hire, and to flit from rosewood to mahogany, and from mahogany to walnut, and from this shape to that, as the humour took one!

“The oddity of the thing is,” said Mr. Skimpole with a quickened sense of the ludicrous, “that my chairs and tables were not paid for, and yet my landlord walks off with them as composedly as possible.  Now, that seems droll!  There is something grotesque in it.  The chair and table merchant never engaged to pay my landlord my rent.  Why should my landlord quarrel with him?  If I have a pimple on my nose which is disagreeable to my landlord’s peculiar ideas of beauty, my landlord has no business to scratch my chair and table merchant’s nose, which has no pimple on it.  His reasoning seems defective!”

“Well,” said my guardian good-humouredly, “it’s pretty clear that whoever became security for those chairs and tables will have to pay for them.”

“Exactly!” returned Mr. Skimpole.  “That’s the crowning point of unreason in the business!  I said to my landlord, ’My good man, you are not aware that my excellent friend Jarndyce will have to pay for those things that you are sweeping off in that indelicate manner.  Have you no consideration for his property?’ He hadn’t the least.”

“And refused all proposals,” said my guardian.

“Refused all proposals,” returned Mr. Skimpole.  “I made him business proposals.  I had him into my room.  I said, ’You are a man of business, I believe?’ He replied, ‘I am,’ ‘Very well,’ said I, ’now let us be business-like.  Here is an inkstand, here are pens and paper, here are wafers.  What do you want?  I have occupied your house for a considerable period, I believe to our mutual satisfaction until this unpleasant misunderstanding arose; let us be at once friendly and business-like.  What do you want?’ In reply to this, he made use of the figurative expression—­which has something Eastern about it—­that he had never seen the colour of my money.  ‘My amiable friend,’ said I, ’I never have any money.  I never know anything about money.’  ‘Well, sir,’ said he, ’what do you offer if I give you time?’ ‘My good fellow,’ said I, ’I have no idea of time; but you say you are a man of business, and whatever you can suggest to be done in a business-like way with pen, and ink, and paper—­and wafers—­I am ready to do.  Don’t pay yourself at another man’s expense (which is foolish), but be business-like!’ However, he wouldn’t be, and there was an end of it.”