It seemed that Caddy's unfortunate papa had got over his bankruptcy--"gone through the Gazette," was the expression Caddy used, as if it were a tunnel--with the general clemency and commiseration of his creditors, and had got rid of his affairs in some blessed manner without succeeding in understanding them, and had given up everything he possessed (which was not worth much, I should think, to judge from the state of the furniture), and had satisfied every one concerned that he could do no more, poor man. So, he had been honourably dismissed to "the office" to begin the world again. What he did at the office, I never knew; Caddy said he was a "custom-house and general agent," and the only thing I ever understood about that business was that when he wanted money more than usual he went to the docks to look for it, and hardly ever found it.
As soon as her papa had tranquillized his mind by becoming this shorn lamb, and they had removed to a furnished lodging in Hatton Garden (where I found the children, when I afterwards went there, cutting the horse hair out of the seats of the chairs and choking themselves with it), Caddy had brought about a meeting between him and old Mr. Turveydrop; and poor Mr. Jellyby, being very humble and meek, had deferred to Mr. Turveydrop's deportment so submissively that they had become excellent friends. By degrees, old Mr. Turveydrop, thus familiarized with the idea of his son's marriage, had worked up his parental feelings to the height of contemplating that event as being near at hand and had given his gracious consent to the young couple commencing housekeeping at the academy in Newman Street when they would.
"And your papa, Caddy. What did he say?"

It seemed that Caddy's unfortunate papa had got over his bankruptcy and had given up everything he possessed (which was not worth much, I should think, to judge from the state of the furniture), and had satisfied his creditors that he could do no more, poor man. So he had been honourably dismissed to "the office" to begin the world again. What he did at the office, I never knew; Caddy said he was a custom-house and general agent.
They had moved to a furnished lodging in Hatton Garden (where I found the children, when I afterwards went there, cutting the horse hair out of the chair seats and choking themselves with it). Caddy had brought about a meeting between him and old Mr. Turveydrop; and poor Mr. Jellyby, being very humble and meek, had deferred to Mr. Turveydrop's deportment so submissively that they had become excellent friends. By degrees, old Mr. Turveydrop had worked up his parental feelings to contemplating his son's marriage and had given his gracious consent to the young couple setting up house at the academy in Newman Street.
"And your papa, Caddy. What did he say?"
