Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 187: what you’re looking at

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

PICKWICK ABROAD. 147 don’t know the name o’ the tap exactly ; but I offen see him ven ! vos boots at the old inn from vich you took me, Sir; and I heerd say in those times—’”’ “But what is there extraordinary in that ?” enquired Mr. Pickwick somewhat sharply. ‘‘ A respectable tavern-keeper has as much right to come to Meurice’s hotel as ourselves, provided he conducts himself properly.” ‘* Yes, Sir—that’s all wery vell, and nobody doesn’t come for’ard for to contrawert it, as the parson said ven he published the bauns for the two Blackey-moors,” returned Mr. Weller: ‘‘ but this old gen’le- man doesn’t live here at all. He's brought a letter o’ introduction to a friend of his vich keeps a public in Paris; and is.come to the hot- tel to rek-vire some information touchin’ and consarnin’ his son.”’ ‘‘ Indeed,” said Mr. Pickwick, beginning to feel himself interested in that which his valet was narrating to him : “ And pray what is the name of the individual to whom you allude ?” “ Sugden, Sir,” answered Mr. Weller: ‘‘he calls his-self honest Jack Sugden, late o’ the What’s-his-name, and present landlord o’ the Thing-um-bob. He’s troubled vith a short memory, Sir, just for all - the vorld like the ministers of his blessed Majesty.” Mr. Pickwick did not wait to hear the conclusion of his faithful domestic’s remarks. He rose hastily from his chair as soon as the name of ‘‘ Sugden” met his ears, even at the risk of overturning the breakfast-tuble into Mr. Nathaniel Winkle’s lap, and hurried down stairs to the coffee-room as quickly as his legs could carry him. On his arrival in that sacred fane, he glanced around him in order to ascertain the locakty occupied by the proprietor of the aristocratic nomenclature that thus had excited his energies and his curiosity ; and in a moment his eyes alighted upon a fat, red-faced, buld-headed individual, whose dress and occupation at once denoted the landlord of the respectable “‘ public” in the Borough. The former of those en- lightening characteristics—or in other words, the stranger’s attire was conipamed of a blue coat and brass buttons, a long buff waistcoat, a white neckcloth, drab trowsers, and guiters of the same; and his oc- cupation was the important discyssion of a mighty plate of cold roast- beef, and his second bottle of London porter by way of breakfast. Mr. Pickwick was convinced, after he had cast one glance at the rentleman here described, and another at his agreeable avocations, that no other person in the coffee-room was worthy of bearing so dis- tinguished a patronymic as that of Sugden. To the astonishment, therefore, of the waiters present, aud of Mr. Weller, who had followed his master down-stairs, and whose surprise had ere now been so con- siderably excited by the presence of a tavern-keeper at Meurice’s hotel,—Mr. Pickwick stepped up to the individual under notice (as the reviewers would say of a book), and accosted him with a polite bow which could be only intended as a preliminary to a farther and more intimate acquaintance. ‘** | beg your pardon, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, in the blandest tone of voice he had ever yet assumed, “‘ but—if I mistake not—your name 33 Sugden—Mr, Sugden, I believe.” ‘* Yes, Sir, it is,’’ replied the gentleman thus addressed, as he eyed a (2) 5} a 6)(0)(6) .S co