Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

PICKWI1UCK ABROAD. 37 alluded tu the Speaker’s vig. This Gubbins, Sir, as I vos a-saying . vent to Orsemonger Lane for some reason or another—I raly don know vot—and they shoved him into a cell vhere two mallifectors had bin the night afore, and vos scragged the same mornin.’ Vell, Sir, he didn’t much care about it as long as ‘twas day-light: but ven the night come, his fears commenced ; and by twelve o’clock he trembled wiolently from head to foot. Just as St. George's had strick the hour o midnight, a low woice echo’d through the cell, and said, ‘ How air you, Gubbins—my boy?’ and then another cried out a little louder, ‘Velcome, Gubby, to the murderer's cell!’ The poor feller’s ’air stood up on eend, and his heart palpitated like the penthulum of a eight-day clock: but wot vos his ‘orrorand ser-prise, ven a faint light stole into the room, and he see the ghostesses o’ the two murderers as plain as I twig you now, Sir. ‘Their eyes vos vide open and looked for all the vorld like lead; and their ‘eads hung a little over to von side. ‘They gave a wery formiliar nod to old Gubbins, groaned heavily, and wanished avay into nothink, leaving poor Gubbins afflicted vith such a shaking as he han’t never since rekivered from, and never vill, Sir. At this present speaking he’s a cook in the Bench, to vich he vos removed agin the same day.’ Just as Mr. Weller had brought this most true and correct narra- tive to a termination, Mr. Pickwick’s hand was purposely placed in contact with the handle of the door of the coffee-room at Meurice’s hotel; and having dismissed his domestic for the moment, he was about to enter the room, when the sounds of voices fell loudly on his ear. ‘‘Seven’s the main—spin ’em, if you like—nine—nine to seven—I want nine—and nine it is!’ cried Mr. Adolphus Crashem, while a strange rattling of something that resembled dice was very plainly heard by the astonished Mr. Pickwick, who, without any farther hesi- tation, flung open the door, and walked hastily into the coffec-room, where a singular spectacle met his eyes. Mr. Winkle was seated at one corner of the table, looking the very picture of misery and discontent; while Mr. Adolphus Crashem was flourishing a dice-box in his right hand, and tenaciously holding a heap of bank-notes 1n his left. Mr. Crashem was not seated: he was lean- ing in a peculiarly interesting attitude over the table, and preparing to throw once more as Mr, Pickwick entered the apartment. ‘‘ Good morning, my dear Sir—good morning,” cried Mr. Crashem vith the most unblushing effrontery, as the great man made his ap- pearance. ‘‘ Hard at ne you see—must get up early to do business —eh, Winkle?’—and Mr. Crashem was immediately convulsed with laughter. ‘© Tt és rather early, Winkle!’ observed Mr. Pickwick with a frowm: Sand in a public hotel!” ‘‘Ohin France, my dear fellow,” interrupted Mr. Adolphus Crashem, ‘tis allthe go. Perhaps you’d like to havea throw yourself. Confound it, don’t refuse, now: I'll set you a quid with pleasure. Shall we say a quid by wav of a start?” ‘“No—no! I mest have mv revenge!” exclaimed Mr. Winkle, casting x republican glance, that seemed the very assertion of cons sciois freedom, on his great leader, who sighed, drew near the fire, and a S 5} a OO <S (©)