Mrs. Blimber was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that did quite as well.

As to Miss Blimber, there was no light nonsense about her.  She was dry and sandy with working in the graves of dead languages.

Mr. Feeder, B.A., Dr. Blimber’s assistant, was a kind of human barrel-organ, with a list of tunes at which he was continually working, over and over again, without any variation.

Under the forcing system at Dr. Blimber’s a young gentleman usually took leave of his spirits in three weeks; he had all the cares of the world on his head in three months, and he conceived bitter sentiments against his parents or guardians in four.

The doctor was sitting in his study when Mr. Dombey and Paul arrived.  “And how do you do, sir?” he said to Mr. Dombey.  “And how is my little friend?” It seemed to Paul as if the great clock in the hall took this up, and went on saying, “how, is, my, lit-tle friend? how, is, my, lit-tle friend?” over and over again.

Paul was handed over to Miss Blimber at once to be “brought on.”

“Cornelia,” said the doctor.  “Dombey will be your charge at first.  Bring him on, Cornelia, bring him on.”

It was hard work, for no sooner had Paul mastered subject A than he was immediately provided with subject B, from which we passed to C, and even D. Often he felt giddy and confused, and drowsy and dull.

But there were always the Saturdays when Florence came at noon to fetch him, and never would she, in any weather, stay away.  Florence brought the school-books he was studying, and every Saturday night would patiently assist him through so much as they could anticipate together of his next week’s work.  And this saved him, possibly, from sinking underneath the burden which the fair Cornelia Blimber piled upon his back.

It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Dr. Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general.  But when Dr. Blimber said that Paul made great progress, and was naturally clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and crammed.

Such spirits as he had at the outset Paul soon lost, of course.  But he retained all that was strange, and odd, and thoughtful in his character; and Mrs. Blimber thought him “odd,” and whispered that he was “old fashioned,” and that was all.

Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of Dr. Blimber’s young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed.  Toots had “gone through” so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to pursue his own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters to himself from persons of distinction, addressed “P.  Toots, Esquire, Brighton,” to preserve them in his desk with great care.

“How are you?” Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.

“Quite well, sir, thank you,” Paul would answer.

“Shake hands,” would be Toot’s next advance.  Which Paul, of course, would immediately do.