Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

PICKWI6IE. ABRUAD. $1 w tears, while Mr. Tupman thought of the nursery-maid, and longed to usk if she were pretty. ‘But I do not think I noticed it in the papers vou allude to.”’ ‘*T saw it, though, in the 7ies, I did,” exclaimed Mr. Boozie. A short pause ensued—Mr. Pickwick closed his eyes, per naps in thought —Mr. Tupman sighed, as the countenance of the pretty chamber-maid was recalled to his memory by a voluntary effort—and Mr. Boozte appeared to reflect whether he had not contradicted himself. or uttered some untruth that required to be explained. ** Devilish slow work, this is,” observed Mr. Crashem, by way of breaking a silence that was any thing but delightful. ‘“ Very tedious,” responded Mr. Winkle, who was seated opposite to Mr. Crashem. ‘‘ What can we do to amuse ourselves ?”’ | ‘*'l'wo good hours more to Boulogne,” cried Mr. Crashem 3; ‘‘ and the most amusing fellow of the whole kit 8 asleep,” he added after a mo- ment, pointing towards Mr. Pickwick, whose expressive countenance was wreathed in smiles, and whose nose sent torth the harmonious sounds that invariably accompanied the slumbers of that extraordi- nary man. ‘So he is, I declare!” exclaimed Mr. Winkle; and he looked at Mr. Crashem, who fancied he saw something peculiar in Mr. Winkle’s glance, and smiled significantly. ‘Should you like to have your revenge, Winkle?" enquired Mr. Crashem after a moment’s delay. ‘Or p'rhaps you wouldn't like to lay so high--eh? Well, well, here goes—any thing to accommo- sate a friend, as Sir Patrick Pocock used to say to my father, the General.” “YT knew Sir Patrick Pocock,” exclaimed Mr. Boozie; “ was hea fnend of your’s ?” “ Nothing more than god-father, that’s all,” returned Mr. Adolphus Crashem, with a look of pity which he bestowed upon Mr. Boozie. “**T' was through his influence that I got into parliament the year be- fore last,” he added, after a moment, with the carelessness of a great man unaccustomed to speak of himself. ‘Ah! what—are you in parliament?” enquired Mr. Winkle, his re- spect for Mr. Adolphus Crashem considerably increasing. ““ Am Inot ?" said Mr. Crashem; ‘that’s all !”—and having uttered this very satisfactory and comprehensive sentence, he quietly drew a pack of cards from one of the pockets of his mysterious rough coat. “For what borough, might I inquire?’ meekly demanded Mr. Winkle. ‘* What borough ?” demanded Mr. Crashem, the extent of his poli- tical responsibilities for a moment obliterating from his memory the very name of the town inhabited by the constituents who elected him. “Oh! what borough ?—why, Skinkville, Somersetshire, to be sure.” “Oh! J recollect!” ejaculated Mr. Boozie, suddenly awaking from adeep reverie: ‘‘I made a false statement just now—I don’t know Sir Patrick Pocock, when I think of it.” Mr. Crashem, we are bound to observe, did not express any astonish- ment at this assertion, but proceeded to shuffle the cards, and enquires of Mr. Winkle what they should play for. 6 a (2) = a OO .S (c©)