Book The First: Poverty Chapter 19 The Father of the Marshalsea in two or three Relations

His brother Frederick of the dim eye, palsied hand, bent form, and
groping mind, submissively shuffled at his side, accepting his patronage
as he accepted every incident of the labyrinthian world in which he had
got lost. He held the usual screwed bit of whitey-brown paper in his
hand, from which he ever and again unscrewed a spare pinch of snuff.
That falteringly taken, he would glance at his brother not unadmiringly,
put his hands behind him, and shuffle on so at his side until he took
another pinch, or stood still to look about him--perchance suddenly
missing his clarionet.

The College visitors were melting away as
the shades of night drew on, but the yard was still pretty full, the
Collegians being mostly out, seeing their friends to the Lodge. As the
brothers paced the yard, William the bond looked about him to receive
salutes, returned them by graciously lifting off his hat, and, with
an engaging air, prevented Frederick the free from running against the
company, or being jostled against the wall. The Collegians as a body
were not easily impressible, but even they, according to their various
ways of wondering, appeared to find in the two brothers a sight to
wonder at. 'You are a little low this evening, Frederick,' said the Father of the
Marshalsea. 'Anything the matter?'

'The matter?' He stared for a moment, and then dropped his head and eyes
again. 'No, William, no. Nothing is the matter.' 'If you could be persuaded to smarten yourself up a little, Frederick--' 'Aye, aye!' said the old man hurriedly. 'But I can't be. I can't be.
Don't talk so. That's all over.'