wholesome and vigorous appetite, 'does the letter say?'

The pretty old lady, after reading it, had just laid it down upon
the breakfast-cloth. She handed it over to her son.

Now, the old lady was exceedingly proud of her bright eyes being so
clear that she could read writing without spectacles. Her son was
also so proud of the circumstance, and so dutifully bent on her
deriving the utmost possible gratification from it, that he had
invented the pretence that he himself could NOT read writing
without spectacles. Therefore he now assumed a pair, of grave and
prodigious proportions, which not only seriously inconvenienced his
nose and his breakfast, but seriously impeded his perusal of the
letter. For, he had the eyes of a microscope and a telescope
combined, when they were unassisted.

'It's from Mr. Honeythunder, of course,' said the old lady, folding
her arms.

'Of course,' assented her son. He then lamely read on:

'"Haven of Philanthropy,
Chief Offices, London, Wednesday.

'"DEAR MADAM,

'"I write in the--;" In the what's this? What does he write in?'

'In the chair,' said the old lady.