Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 342: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 281 for travellers, written by the ingenious Mr. Francis Coghlan, and containing select phrases in French for the use of the lishman who might be unacquainted with that language. Having muttered a certain word to himself some half-dozen times, till he thought he had acquired the proper pronunciation, he turned himself gracefully round m his chair, and exclaimed “‘ Girkin!—Girkin!” in a pleasingly undu- lated and drawling tone of voice. No one, however, returned any answer. ‘“‘Girkin!” again ejaculated the young gentleman. Still there was no reply. ‘‘Girkin—I say, d—n your eyes,” cried the young gentleman in the deepest indignation. ‘Pray, Sir, are you calling any one?” enquired Mr. Chitty, who was astonished, as well he might have been, at the singularity of the stranger'é proceedings. ‘Yes, Sir—I sas calling some one, Sir,’’ returned the young gen- tleman, in a menacing tone, at which Mr. Winkle turned desperately pale. ‘I wanted the waiter—Sir—and this book here, Sir, says you must call ‘ Girkin,’ Sir.” , Mr. Chitty could not disguise a smile as he said, “I beg youa thousand pardons, Sir, but it is ‘Gargon,’ that you must call.” “Thank you, Sir,” exclaimed the young gentleman.—* Garsoon !”’ he roared at the top of his voice; and not inconsiderable was his delight when the being thus adjured made his appearance. The waiter was a tall, thin, sallow-faced individual—with long wiry black hair, standing bolt upright on his head—a very clean white apron, anda dark blue jacket. “ Well, I think I shall get on in my French, after all,” said the young gentleman, complacently aling to Mr. Chitty. _ “Qh! yes—I think so too,” said Mr. Winkle, desirous of obtain- ing the irritable young gentleman’s good opinion. ‘* Garsoon,” continued the young gentleman. ‘¢ Monsieur,” said the waiter. “* Apportez-moi,” began the young gentleman, again consulting his book,—‘‘ a—what the devil is it now ?—a—a—a bully!” Mr. Winkle immediately fancied that the young gentleman medi- tated a desperate attack upon him and his party, and that he wanted to obtain the assistance of a practised hand before he began: Mr. Winkle was accordingly about to make for the door before the bully arrived, when Mr. Chitty again interfered to arrange matters to general satisfaction. “IT think it is a piece of bowtllé that you require, Sir—is it not ?” said the poet, whose great genius had in a moment penetrated through the mists of ambiguity in which every one else was involved. P ‘¢ yee—bully—to e sure,” exclaimed the young gentleman very ercely. The behest of the stranger was forthwith exposed to the waiter, and Mr. Winkle was relieved of the momentary fears that had seized upon him. “TI thought it would have been very odd,” said he to himself, as the mutton-cutlets, which Mr. Walker had ordered, were placed upon the table,—‘“‘ I thought it would have been very odd, if a man had come to a coffee-house with the intention of thrashing four inno- CO stor q) (c@