Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/142

94 ^4 POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF

a hackney-coach — came to the Borough — last place in the world that he'd look in — ha ! ha ! — capital notion that — very."

" Don't he long-," said the spinster, affectionately, as Mr. Jingle stuck the pinched up hat on his head.

'* Long away from you 9 — Cruel charmer/' and Mr. Jingle skipped playfully up to the spinster aunt, imprinted a chaste kiss upon her lips, and danced out of the room.

^' Dear man ! " said the spinster, as the door closed after him.

<' Rum old girl," said Mr. Jingle, as he walked down the passage.

It is painful to reflect upon the perfidy of our species ; and we will not therefore, pursue the thread of Mr. Jingle's meditations, as he wended his way to Doctors' Commons. It will be sufficient for our purpose to relate, that escaping the snares of the dragons in white aprons, who guard the entrance to that enchanted region, he reached the Vicar General's office in safety, and having procured a highly flat- tering address on parchment, from the Archbishop of Canterbury, to his " trusty and well-beloved Alfred Jingle and Rachael Wardle, greeting," he carefully deposited the mystic document in his pocket, and retraced his steps in triumph to the Borough.

Ho was yet on his way to the White Hart, when two plump gentle- men and one thin one, entered the yard, and looked round in search of some authorised person of whom they could make a few inquiries. Mr. Samuel Weller happened to be at that moment engaged in burnishing a pair of painted tops, the personal property of a farmer, who was refreshing himself with a slight lunch of two or three pounds of cold beef and a pot or two of porter, after the fatigues of the Borough market ; and to him the thin gentleman straightway advanced —

" My friend," said the thin gentleman.

" You're one o' the adwice gratis order," thought Sara, " or you wouldn't be so werry fond o' me all at once." But he only said-— " Well Sir."

" My friend," said the thin gentleman, with a conciliatory hem — " Have you got many people stopping here, now? Pretty busy. Eh?"

Sam stole a look at the inquirer. He was a little high-dried man, with a dark squeezed up face, and small restless black eyes, that kept winking and twinkling on each side of his little inquisitive nose, as if they were playing a perpetual game of peep-bo with that feature. He was dressed all in black, with boots as shiny as his eyes, a low white neckcloth, and a clean shirt with a frill to it. A gold watch-chain, and seals, depended from his fob. He carried his black kid gloves in his hands, not on them ; and as he spoke, thrust his wrists beneath his coat-tails, with the air of a man who was in the habit of propounding some regular posers.

" Pretty busy, eh ? " said the little man.

we shan't make our forl'ns. We eats our biled mutton without capers, and don't care for horse-radish ven ve can get beef."
 * • Oh, werry well. Sir," replied Sam, " we shan't be bankrupts, and

<* Ah," said the little man, '• you're a wag, a'nt you? "