Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 312: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 255 in a meek tone of voice, which, however, very much belied its owner’s disposition. ‘‘ One of your creditors is an individual whom his Excel- lency, Lord Pompus, would not like to offend.” ‘‘ This is very unfortunate,” murmured the poor devil, witha bitter sigh. ‘My only chance is to get to England—my own native country —or else I shall be arrested to-day, and I see no other prospect but that of dying in gaol.” ‘Very sorry, my dear fellow,” said the consul, looking as happy as men who have little to vex them and a good income usually do: ‘* but your creditors have applied to stop your passport, and therefore! can- not grant one on any account.” ‘*Then I am ruined,” cried the man; “and that’s all about it. I shouldn’t care for myself; but I’ve a wife and seven children—and— and—’’ the poor fellow’s voice was almost choked in sobs—“‘ itis very hard to see them wanting bread in a gaol, for that will be my lot!’ The consul shook his head, pursed up his mouth, yet said nothing. ‘‘And with so capital an idea too,” continued the man, “which I could turn to such a good account in London !’’ ‘“* Pray, my fine fellow, what is that ?” enquired the consul, some- what impatiently. ‘‘ Why, Sir,” replied the poor Englishman, ‘‘ if you would’nt men- tion it again—nor—”’ ‘* Nor what ?” demanded the consul. ‘‘ Nor take it up yourself,’’ answered the poor fellow, timidly, ‘* I would’nt mind letting you into the secret.”’ “* Well—well! what is it?” asked the consul. ‘“* Why, Sir,” said the man, in a sort of half-whisper, ‘‘’tis a couple of opposition self-taught Industrious Fleas, that’ll carry a Napoleon twice as big as the one now exhibiting in the Strand.” ‘“Industrious Fleas !’’ shouted the consul, in an agony of rage. ‘* Yes, Sir,’’ said the man; ‘‘and a very excellent speculation it is, too: that’s the reason I’m afeerd to tell it to any one.” ‘¢ Simcox !”” exclaimed the consul louder than before. *‘ Sir,’’ said an individual with red hair, suddenly appearing from an inner Office. ‘‘ Put that fellow out of the place, Simcox,” said the consul; and Mr. Simcox obeyed with an alacrity that ‘admirably exempiitied his readiness to enact the part of a good consular clerk—such being the terms upon which he retained his situation. No sooner was the unfortunate speculator in the capacities and powers of fleas thus forcefully ejected, than a young gentleman, of about two-and-twenty, dressed in the extreme of fashion, and switch- ing a riding-whip in his hand, rushed into the office. “Ah! Whickford, my boy,” exclaimed the little gentleman, ‘‘ how are you this morning? At seedy after last night’s dissipation, eh ?’’ ‘‘Oh! not in the least, my lord,” returned the consul, with a very polite bow. ‘‘ But pray sit down, and tell me what I can have the leasure of doing for your lordship this morning. Here, Simcox,— and Lord Logmore a chair.”’ Mr. Simcox once more emerged from his den, placed the seat as he was required to do, and vanished. ‘You know that cursed horse-dealer, Whickford, who came to stop my passport the other day ?’ continued Lord Logmore. COI stor (a) SS (c@