The entrance of the lost child at home made a slight sensation, but not much.  Mr. Dombey kissed her once upon the forehead, and cautioned her not to wander anywhere again with treacherous attendants.  He then dismissed the culprit Polly Richards, from his service, telling her to leave immediately, and it was a dagger in the haughty father’s heart to see Florence holding to her dress, and crying to her not to go.  Not that he cared to whom his daughter turned, or from whom turned away.  The swift, sharp agony struck through him as he thought of what his son might do.

His son cried lustily that night, at all events; and the next day a new nurse, Wickam by name, took Polly’s place.

She lavished every care upon little Paul, yet all her vigilance could not make him a thriving boy.  When he was nearly five years old, he was a pretty little fellow, but so very delicate that Mr. Dombey became alarmed about him, and decided to send him at once to the seashore.

So to Brighton, Paul and Florence and nurse Wickam went, and boarded with a certain Mrs. Pipchin there.  On Saturdays Mr. Dombey came down to a hotel near by, and Paul and Florence would go and have tea with him, and every day they spent their time upon the sands, and Florence was always content when Paul was happy.

While the children were thus living at Brighton, a warrant was served upon old Solomon Gills, by a broker, because of a payment overdue upon a bond debt.  Old Sol was overcome by the extent of this calamity, which he could not avert, and Walter hurried out to fetch Captain Cuttle to discuss the situation.  To the lad’s dismay, the Captain insisted upon applying to Mr. Dombey at once for the necessary loan which would help old Sol out of his difficulty.  So Walter proceeded with him to Brighton as fast as coach horses could carry them, and on a Sunday morning while Mr. Dombey was at breakfast, Florence came running in, her face suffused with a bright color, and her eyes sparkling joyfully, and cried: 

“Papa!  Papa! here’s Walter, and he won’t come in!”

“Who?” cried Mr. Dombey, “What does she mean,—­what is this?”

“Walter, Papa,” said Florence timidly; “who found me when I was lost!”

“Tell the boy to come in,” said Mr. Dombey.  “Now, Gay, what is the matter?”

Tremblingly Walter Gay stood in the presence of his proud employer, and made known his uncle’s distress, and when he ceased speaking, Captain Cuttle stepped forward, and clearing a space among the breakfast cups at Mr. Dombey’s elbow, produced a silver watch, ready money to the amount of thirteen pounds and half a crown, two teaspoons and a pair of battered sugar-tongs, and piling them up into a heap, that they might look as precious as possible, said: 

“Half a loaf is better than no bread, and the same remark holds good with crumbs.  There’s a few.  Annuity of one hundred pounds p’rannum also ready to be made over!”