Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/189

135 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 135

dangled from a long row of pegs in one corner. The mantel-shelf was ornnmented with a wooden inkstand, containing one stump of a pen and half a wafer, a road-book and directory, a county history minus the cover, and the mortal remains of a trout in a glass coffin. The atmo- spiiere was redolent of tobacco-smoke, the fumes of which had commu- nicated a rather dingy hue to the whole room, and more especially to the dusty red curtains which shaded the windows. On the sideboard, a variety of miscellaneous articles were huddled together, the most con- spicuous of which were some very cloudy fish-sauce cruets, a couple or driving-boxes, two or three whips, and as many travelling shawls, a tray of knives and forks, and the mustard.

Here it was that Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were seated on the evening after the conclusion of the election, with several other temporary inmates of the house, smoking and drinking.

" Well gents," said a stout, hale personage of about forty, with only one eye — a very bright black eye, which twinkled with a roguish expres- sion of fiin and good humour, " Our noble selves, gents. I always propose that toast to the company, and drink Mary to myself. Eh, Mary?"

" Get along with you, you wretch," said the hand-maiden, obviously not ill pleased with the compliment, however.

" Don't go away, Mary," said the black eyed man.

" Let me alone, iraperence," said the young lady.

" Never mind," said the one-eyed man, calling after the girl as she left the room. " I'll step out by and by, Mary. Keep your spirits up, dear." Here he went through the not very difficult process of winking upon the company with his solitary eye, to the enthusiastic delight of an elderly personage with a dirty face and a clay pipe.

" Rum creeters is women," said the dirty-faced man, after a pause.

" Ah I no mistake about that," said a very red-faced man, behind a cigar.

After this little bit of philosophy there was another pause.

" There's rummer things than women in this world though, mind you," said the man with the black eye, slowly filling a large Dutch pipe, with a most capacious bowl.

" Are you married? " inquired the dirty-faced man.

" Can't say I am."

'* I thought not." Here the dirty-faced man fell into extasies of mirth at his own retort, in which he was joined by a man of bland voice and placid countenance, who always made it a point to agree with everybody.

" are the great props and comforts of our existence."
 * ' Women after all, gentlemen," said the enthusiastic Mr. Snodgrass,

" So they are," said the placid gentleman.

" When they're in a s"ood humour," interposed the dirty-faced man.

" And that's very true," said the placid one.

" I repudiate that quahfication," said Mr. Snodgrass, whose thoughts were last reverting to Emily Wardle, " I repudiate it with disdain — with indignation. Show me the man who says anything against women, as