Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 199: what you’re looking at

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

104 Pickwick Abroad. leave it, in case you forget the address ;""—and the card was accord- ingly entrusted to the secure keeping of the looking-glass frame forth- with, ‘‘And now for my business,” said Mr. Hook Walker, who had maintained a deep and evidently systematic silence during the progress of the interesting conversation ere now detailed; ‘‘ and this is what it is. I believe, Mr. Pickwick,” pursued Mr. Walker, turning leisurel round in his chair, so as to confront the gentleman whom he thus ad. dressed in measured terms, ‘‘I believe that you are excessively fond of the National Airs of France, or of any thing connected with the Emperor Napoleon.” ‘‘T have a predilection that way,” returned Mr. Pickwick with a smile. ‘‘T know it,” said Mr. Walker; ‘‘I know it. A man of your talent, Mr. Pickwick, must feel interested in these matters: it is a part of the system of every person of taste and education. And with those im- pressions [ have ventured to procure a translation of one of De Beren- ger’s most popular airs for your perusal. It was my intention to have Invited you all to dine with me on Monday next—but—” and Mr. Walker hesitated as he glanced towards Mr. Scuttle. ‘Oh! you are very kind, indeed,” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick; “ but as we cannot have the pleasure of dining with you on Monday. for rea- sons with which you are now acquainted, perhaps you and Mr. Scut- tle would favour us with your company to-day?” Mr. Scuttle, who, though an eccentric man, was neither a selfish one nor an adventurer, declined the invitation on the plea of prior engage- ments: but Mr. Hook Walker, whose economical and systematic ar- rangements it exactly suited, immediately declared his willingness to pass the day with Mr. Pickwick and his companions. Mr. Scuttle shortly rose and took his leave; and Mr. Hook Walker then produced the poem, for the gift of which he had succeeded in obtaining the only remuneration he required—viz. a dinner. ‘Shall I read it to you now,” enquired Mr. Walker, deliberately unfolding a small roll of papers, “ or wait till the evening ?” ‘“‘T should like very much to hear it at once, if you please,” said Mr. Pickwick, not at all sorry to have acquired the reputation of a patron of the Muses in addition to his other distinguishing and nu- merous qualifications, some of which he had obtained at an equally cheap rate, like many of the men in power at the present day. “It is translated by the same young friend who gave me the Mar- secllaise,” said Mr. Walker. ‘‘He is a clever fellow in his way— and as he is not over rich, Mr. Pickwick, it is a part of my system to patronise him to the utmost of my power.” So, indeed, it was, for Mr. Walker did not fail to breakfast every other morning, and dine twice a week, with the poetic object of his kind solicitude; and in addition to these marks of favour and friendship, he not unfrequently borrowed a few francs by way of strengthening me disinterested ties that rendered them almost a second Pythias an amon. Mr. Walker, perceiving that his audience was anxiously awaiting the commencement of the air, cleared his throat in the most approved style usually adopted by orators on the public hustings at elections in GOMICOOOo (©) (c@