Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/547

453 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 453

Yes, in tattered garments, and without a coat ; his common calico shirt yellow and in rags ; his hair hanging over his face ; his features changed with suffering, and pinched with famine, — there sat Mr. Alfred Jingle ; his head resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed upon the fire, and his whole appearance denoting misery and dejection I

Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strong-built countryman, flicking with a worn-out hunting-whip the top-boot that adorned his right foot : his left being thrust into an old slipper. Horses, (logs, and drink had brought him there pell-mell. There was a rusty spur on the solitary boot, which he occasionally jerked into the empty air, at the same time giving the boot a smart blow, and muttering some of the sounds by which a sportsman encourages his horse. He was riding, in imagination, some desperate steeple-chace at that mo- ment. Poor wretch ! he never roiie a match on the swiftest animal in his costly stud, with half the speed at which he had torn along the course that ended in the Fleet.

On the opposite side of the room an old man was seated on a small wooden box, with his eyes rivetted on the floor, and his face settled into an expression of the deepest and most hopeless despair. A young girl — his little grand-daughter — was hanging about him, endeavouring, with a thousand childish devices, to engage his attention ; but the old man neither saw nor heard her. The voice that had been music to him, and the eyes that had been light, fell coldly on his senses. His limbs were shaking with disease, and the palsy had fastened on his mind.

There were two or three other men in the room, congregated in a little knot, and noisily talking among themselves. There was a lean and haggard woman, too — a prisoner's wife — who was watering, with great solicitude, the wretched stump of a dried-up, withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never send forth a green leaf again ; — too true an emblem, perhaps, of the office she had come there to discharge.

Such were the objects which presented themselves to Mr. Pickwick's view, as he looked round him in amazement. The noise of some one stumbling hastily into the room roused him. Turning his eyes towards the door, they encountered the new comer; and in him, through all his rags, and dirt, and misery, he recognised the familiar features of Mr, Job Trotter.

" Mr. Pickwick!*' exclaimed Job aloud.

" Eh ?" said Jingle, starting from his seat.

<« Mr. ! So it is — queer ])lace — strange thing — serves me

right — very." And with this Mr. Jingle thrust his hands into the place where his trousers pocket used to be, and, dropping his chin upon his breast, sunk back into his chair.

Mr. Pickwick was affected ; the two men looked so very miserable. The sharp involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a small piece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in with him, said more of their reduced state than two hours' explanation could have done. He looked mildly at Jingle, and said : —

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