Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 97: what you’re looking at

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4 ; e * Soh De 2” PICKWIGK ABROAD. | » ertising sheet of this wir’ A ‘Nice airy | for one or two minutes, and then solemnly irawing-roo! n, healthy d ning-parlor, and* replied, “Anastasie is no 1 * oe ai a’cheerful bed-chamber. No children nor esdogs allowed? So if you really -wish—” » ~~ “Upon my word, Mr. Crashem,” said Mr. ’ - saluted as al ancient fellow by the indi- ‘vidual with’ whom he had no reason to be well pleased ; “I did not come to look after lodging , but to bring a sum of money to a lady vhom my friend Winkle became ac- quainted with yesterday.” b “And whom: you have not yet seen?” eagerly demanded Mr. Crashem. “No,” replied Mr. Tupman, fondly antici- pating that the frankness of the explana- tion might induce Mr. Crashem to be-equally communicative relative to his own extraor- dinary intrusion. “Just my business, also!” exclaimed that _ gentleman, considerably enlightened. “T fancied,” suggested Mr. 'Tupman, “that you ‘came to look for lodgings which you had seen advertised—” ) “Delicacy—my dear fell6w—delicacy,” interrupted ~ Adolphus Crashem, looking very much like a man who invariably acted upon the same principle: “delicacy in a case where there’s a female concerned, you cnow—as my friend, the baronet, used to ay. And to tell you the truth,” he added in a Whisper, “I am myself come to assist the worthy lady herself in her temporary difficulties. She is an excellent ‘creature, and now, thank God! a few hundred won’t hurt. me:”’—and with these words Mr. Crashem chased a solitary five-franc piece into the most profound corner of his breech- es’ pocket, ©. | ’ “Ah! now I understand you,” cried Mr. rably relieved by’this ex- | '‘'wpman, consideral planation: “we are both come then upon the same charitable ‘fotive. But—how long have oP er in Paris?” “Only a few days,” replied Mr. Crashem. “Since our cursed adventure at St. Omers I have been home to my father, and drawn the old boy. Singular that with his immense wealth, and a General too, he should be eccentric enough to fancy himself a publican, is it not #” inquired the excellent son of Mr. John Sugden. | , “Very,® responded Mr. Tupman, who was thinking of something else. “But do you know what has become of—of—Anas- tasie ?” added that gentleman, in a very low tone of voice. Mr. Crashem eyed Mr. Tupman askance ae “Jigad |” ejaculated Mr. Tupman, starting from his seat. oat “ Dead—and of a broken heart,’ con- tinued Mr. Crashem, pathetically. “God bless.me!” said Mr. Tupman, m ing, and fumbling for his cambric pock br handkerchief. | eal “Yes—” said Mr. Adolphus Crashem: “defeated hopes—blighted love —disap- pointment, et cetera—et cetera, carried her to an untimely grave.” ‘sd Mr. Tupman was preparing to weep in a fit and becoming manner, and Mr. Crashe with equal discretion was about to relate a most pathetic and heart-rending account of the last moments of Mademoiselle Anastasie de Volage, when the lady’s-maid, who had been a silent and unobserved listener and spectator of all that passed between the two gentlemen, was again summoned to the front door by a ring more clamorous and authoritative than that which had announced Mr. Adolphus Crashem. The door was ac- cordingly opefied with befitting haste; and Mr, Winkle, the perspiration running down his face, his hair in disorder, his eyes almost starting out of his head, and his lips still smeared with raspberty-jam, rushed speedi- ly past the astonished domestic, erying out for his “friend Tupman,” as lustily'as he could bawl. Mr. tarpendn rose to ascertain the meaning of this extraordinary clamor ; and as he hastened towards the drawing- room door, he encountered Mr. Winkle with a somewhat unpleasant shock, and being thereby tripped lightly off his legs, fell heavily to the ground, to the inexpressible aah of Mr..Crashem, who considerately advised the servant “to pick up the pieces.” ~“Tupman,” exclaimed Mr, Winkle, sinking upon'a chair, and panting for breath,—* the money !” | “Oh! my nose!” ried the individual thus appealed to, as he rose slowly from the floor, rubbing his nasal promontory as mer- pe as Mr. St.John Long was accus- tomed to operate upon his patients’ backs. “The money!” shouted Mr. Winkle, foaming at the mouth: “it’s all a humbug!” “What!” cried Mr. Tupman, partially recovering his preente of mind. * Has anything happened? Where’s Pickwick ?” “Where's the money ?” bawled Mr. Win- kle, louder than before. | -“Here—here,” replied Mr. Tupman, en- tertaining a vague notion of his friend's COMIIGIOO ae . ’ 5 i - = . a a ie é » x 5 © <SAGO