Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 241: what you’re looking at

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

192 Pickwick Abroad. ‘‘] have succeeded,” replied M. Dumont, throwing himself upon a chair, and his hat upon the table. ‘¢ And where is he?” cried Mr. Pickwick, almost breathless with agitation and curiosity. ‘s His passport is signed for Saint Omers,’’ said Dumont. ‘I have been to the Prefecture de Police to ascertain the fact.” Mr. Pickwick rang the bell violently, and Mr. Weller immediately answered the summons. ‘‘Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, ‘‘ tell Mr. Cailliez to get me a post- chaise and four immediately. I must be at Saint Omer’s to-morrow evening by this time.”’ ‘*Know how far you're a-goin’ ?”” enquired Mr. Weller, looking as much inclined to move off in the required haste as the Monument to take a walk across the Thames. ‘‘ No,” replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘ But were it as far as Jerusalem, I must be there in four-and-twenty hours at the outside,’ added he great man with that peculiar felicity of idea which so eminently dis- tinguished him. “Must, eh?’ observed Mr. Weller, very quietly. ‘‘ Who’s goin’ too?” ‘“ You, Sam,’’ replied Mr. Pickwick: ‘‘ Mr. Winkle will stay behind at Paris.” ‘‘ Vell, that’s a blessin’,” cried Mr. Weller. ‘‘ But how far air we off, as the gen’leman in the fire-balloon said to his-self?”’ ‘‘ About a hundred and fifty miles,” elucidated M. Dumont. ‘‘ An’ vot’s the use o’ goin’ about the country, and makin’ vild beastesses on ourselves ?’”’ remonstrated Mr. Weller, placing his arms a-kimbo, and confronting his master with as much respect as might be expected from a Cherokee Indian, were he brought to give evidence at the bar of the House of Commons. ‘‘ You're the age for galliwantin’, you air, Sir, as the gen'‘leman said to Mathusalem.” ‘You mean Methuselah, Sam,” suggested Mr. Pickwick. * Vell, Sir, p'rhaps I do,” cried Mr. Weller, dogmatically: “there ain’t no sayin’ that I don’t, vich vos the obserwation made by the young chap to his tailor as told him he owed a bill: but, jokin’ apart —ain’t this a rum start o’ your’n all o’ a sudden, Sir ?” Mr. Pickwick declared that whether it were rum or not, he certainly intended a start, and requested his servant not to oppose his determi- nations, to which that gentleman responded by a dozen emphatic shakes of the head. “* Quite decided, Sir?” demanded Mr. Weller, after a pause, during which he brought to a conclusion the exercise he so considerately allowed his head. ‘¢ Quite,” said Mr. Pickwick. ‘‘ An’ no mistake, as the sheriff’s officer says ?”’ An intimation was given that there was none. “Vell, then, here goes,” cried Mr. Weller, in a state of desperation. ‘‘ Pray be quick, Sam,” urged the impatient Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Weller accordingly hastened to obey his master’s orders, and M. Dumont undertook to get the immortal gentleman’s passport duly signed for him, in order to prevent as much delay as pcesible. CO stor (©) SS (c@