Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 158: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

122 el1CKWICK ABHUAD. But where was the owner of the apartment thus supeJ? Mr, Crashem was seated upon a chair in which he with difficu"*~ maia- tained his balance; a cigar was in his mouth, a tumbler or punch ir his hand, and his eye contemplated, with a species of vacant satisfac- tion, the mops and brooms that relieved the sight in the perspective of his chamber. Mr, Lipman was seated upon the floor with his back to the wall, being too much intoxicated to remain stationary on a more convenient seat; and the eternal wooden pipe was performing for him its wonted and agreeable office of emitting volumes of smoke. Add to this description, the person of Mr. Jopling, who was quietly snoring away under the table, where le had tallen an hour before. and the interesting scene is complete. The three friends, upon the strength of the discount, had prudently determined “ to make a night of it ;’’ and they had done so with a vengeance: indeed, Mr. Crashem a very much like a man who intended to make a quiet day of it also. ‘* Ah! Pick—Pick—wick, how d’ye do, old—-chap ?” enquired Mr. Adolphus Crashem, glancing vacantly from the household furniture towards his visitor, and still dubious whether it really were Mr. Pick- wick or not. ‘*‘ How d’ye do, though?” he added, after a moment, which he wisely employed in a strict scrutiny of the person of our great hero: ‘‘ pray, sit down—and do as we do. I can’t get up—to —to welcome you; for if I did—I should imitate that—that—con- founded drunken dog’s ex—ex—ex—ample !"’—-«s! with these words, Mr. Crashem applied the heel of his Bact in a ruly facetious and friendly manner to Mr. Jopling’s ribs. ‘‘ Keep up the spree, gentlémen, say I!’ exclaimed Mr. Lipman, whose powers of articulation were unimpaired; and in order to assist the hilarity of the morning’s entertainment, he very obligingly com- menced the first verse of a highly pathetic and affecting song, the words of which ran nearly as follows — “‘ A pot of good porter fill—fll up for me, Give those who prefer it blue ruin ; But whate’er be the lush, it a bumper meet be, For we're serious in what we are doin’ !” And so indeed they were, God knows; for at the conclusion of this verse, Messieurs Crashem and Lipman laughed heartily, and drank off the contents of their glasses, with a kind and patronising nod to Mr. Pickwick, who stood a silent spectator of this extraordinary scene. ‘“* Keep «p the e!” eee Mr. Crashem. ‘‘ Hooray °” ‘* Hooray !’”” echoed Mr. Lipman; and he immediately proceeded ' to chaunt the second verse of his select air. ‘“‘ And now that our grog and cigars are begun, And all our best feelings possess us, Let us drink our own health, and be d——d to ‘he ont Who refuses to join in ‘God bless us! God bless us !’” ** Excellent !’" said Mr. Crashem, approvingly. ‘* But-—I say—old t-llow,” he added, addressing himself to Mr. Pickwick, ** you don’t seem to—to pay any attern—tion to my—mops!”’ 6)(0)6) a (2) = a Si Co —_