The slate comes into requisition again, but the word he wants to write he cannot remember. His anxiety, his eagerness, and affliction at this pass are pitiable to behold. It seems as if he must go mad in the necessity he feels for haste and the inability under which he labours of expressing to do what or to fetch whom. He has written the letter B, and there stopped. Of a sudden, in the height of his misery, he puts Mr. before it. The old housekeeper suggests Bucket. Thank heaven! That's his meaning.
Mr. Bucket is found to be downstairs, by appointment. Shall he come up?

He signs for the slate again, but the word he wants to write he cannot remember. His anxiety, his eagerness, and affliction are pitiable to behold. It seems as if he must go mad in his need for haste and his inability to express what or who he wants. He has written the letter B, and there stopped. Of a sudden, he puts Mr. before it. The old housekeeper suggests Bucket. Thank heaven! That's his meaning.
Mr. Bucket is downstairs. Shall he come up?
