Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 314: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 257 CHAPTER XXXI. MR, PICKWICK'S VISITTO MR, SEPTIMUS CHITTY.—THE DRIVE TO SURENE, WITH VARIOUS EDIFYING AND AMUSING CONVERSATIONS.~—-MR, NASSAU SIFFKIN.—MAN, THE LORD OF THE CREATION. It was a fine day in the month of June—about three weeks after the memorable events narrated in the last chapter—that a light britzka followed, on certain compulsory principles, a pair of somewhat lean horses down the Boulevard Mont Parnasse, and finally stopped, with the consent of the said horses and their driver, at a house which no doubt commanded from its attics a fine view of the adjacent country. The moment the equipage had thus pulled up, Mr. Weller jumped lightly from the dickey, and having opened the door of the vehicle, invited his master with a patronizing nod to alight. This adjuration was immediately complied with; the black gaiters and shoes speedily descended the steps; and as Mr. Pickwick arrived safely on e ground, the expressive countenances of Messieurs Winkle, Tup- man, and Walker looked forth from the britzka, and with their smiles betokened the satisfaction that filled the breasts of their proprietors. Indeed, to such an extent did Mr. Winkle’s good humour extend, that he considerately advised Mr. Pickwick “‘ not to hurry himself”’— a tion perfectly unnecessary, as the learned man had beforehand resolved not to put himself out of the way nor into a perspiration for any one. f Mr. Vinkie’s quite right, Sir,” observed the attentive Mr. Weller, approvingly: “ve von’t no man’s cattle, as ve may have a don- key of our own von 0’ these days.” “A very extraordi remark, that, Sam,”’ said Mr. Pickwick: “IT must make a note of it, as one that was probably suggested by Mr. Martin’s act.—But we musn’'t lose our time in chattering. I be- lieve this is the house in which Mr. Chitty, the t Poet, resides ?’ “Number two hundred and tventy-von—at the wery tip-top o’ the house—fust door on the left-hand, vith ‘Chitty’ mar on the panels,” elucidated Mr. Weller, as he referred to a card which he ex- tracted from his waistcoat pocket. Mr. Pickwick accordingly followed these directions; and after having wiped his face several times with his best India-silk handker- chief, he succeeded in arriving at the summit of the six flights which led to the quiet and cheerful apartments oceupted by the votary of the Muses. This much being accomplished, Mr. Pickwick rang the front-door bell, and in process of time was confronted by an especially dirty servant-gir!, whom the great man’s extraordinary powers of per- ception immediately recognised to be of English extraction. ‘Is Mr. Chitty at home, my dear?” enquired Mr. Pickwick, in a pleasing tone of voice. “‘No, he ain’t,” was the reply. ‘“‘He don’t dine at home to-day, neither,” ‘‘ That’s very provoking!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. | ‘‘T dare say it is, if you’ve come with a good appetite,” observed the girl, sulkily; ‘‘for I’m sure it’s no use you're coming to lunch along with him. He ain’t got no wittles his-self, scarcely; and a COL q) DGoe SS (c@