'Now, last, not least, Mr. Micawber,' said
I. 'He has paid off every obligation he incurred here - even to Traddles's
bill, you remember my dear Agnes - and therefore we may take it for granted
that he is doing well. But what is the latest news of him?'
Mr. Peggotty, with a smile, put his hand in his breast-pocket, and produced a
flat-folded, paper parcel, from which he took out, with much care, a little
odd-looking newspaper.
'You are to understan', Mas'r Davy,' said he, 'as we have left the Bush now, being
so well to do; and have gone right away round to Port Middlebay Harbour, wheer
theer's what we call a town.'
'Mr. Micawber was in the Bush near you?' said I.
'Bless you, yes,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'and turned to with a will. I never wish
to meet a better gen'l'man for turning to with a will. I've seen that theer
bald head of his a perspiring in the sun, Mas'r Davy, till I a'most thowt it
would have melted away. And now he's a Magistrate.'
'A Magistrate, eh?' said I.
Mr. Peggotty pointed to a certain paragraph in the newspaper, where I read
aloud as follows, from the Port Middlebay Times:
