Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 193: what you’re looking at

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148 Pickwick Abroad. Mr. Pickwick askance, “‘ and you, I suppose,” continued Mr. Sugden, ‘Care the landlord of What’s-his-name-hotel—ain’t you?” — Mr. Pickwick at once pleaded not guilty to this indictment ;"and in order to inspire his fellow-countryman with confidence, he declared his name and titles with as much correctness as if he were an aristocrat reading a genealogy aloud from Mr. Lodge’s ‘‘ Peerage.”’ ‘“Perhaps you'll jine me, then, Mr. Thing-um-bob?” suggested Mr. Sugden, glancing towards Mr. Pickwick, and indicating the half- emptied bottle of porter with a subtle jerk of his right hand. Mr. Sugden’s powers of recollection were exceedingly circumscribed ; and in order to avoid the disagreeable necessity of wearing them out by putting them to a too frequent test, he prudently supplied the places — of real names with other compounds of his own invention. “No, I thank you,” returned Mr. Pickwick, politely declining the proffered glass of porter: ‘‘my object in addressing myself to you, Sir, was to ascertain if you were acquainted with a gentleman of the name of Crashem.” . ‘Don’t you think, Mr. What-the-devil’s-your name,” enquired Mr. Sugden in slow and measured terms, “ that a father ain’t a bein’ admirably well calculated to recognise his own son ?” : “Certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily: ‘“‘ and he is not the only son and heir, then, of General Crashem, of Crashem Park 2” ‘<All gammon,” laconically answered Mr. Sugden: _ ‘“‘ Nor engaged to be married to Miss Grinwell, of Grinwell Lodge, Somersetshire ?”’ added Mr. Pickwick. ‘‘No more than you are, Mr. What-is-it,” responded the stout gen- tleman. ‘‘ His grandfather, which was a respectable cow-herd in that county, left him a few pounds that was soon squandered away; and I, Mr. Thing-um-bob, am honest Jack Sugden of the Lanthorn and Cat in the Borough, elector and overseer, and a loyal subject of Great What-d’ye-call-it. 'Them’s my titles ;’-—and as he gave utterance to these dignified words, he looked around him with an air that seemed to challenge any one to deny his rank or his assertions. ‘‘ You are aware, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick after a short pause, “ that your son 1s in the debtors’ prison of this city ?”’ ‘So I heerd from one of his London trades-men,”’ answered Mr. Sugden; ‘‘ and that’s what brought me over to Frogland. He’s my only son, and I can’t suffer him to rot in-a gaol, which he might do.” “Perhaps he might,” said Mr. Pickwick, drily, as the reminiscences of the debauch and the discount flashed across his mind. ‘ But, if it be your intention to call upon him in his place of confinement, I will accompany you. I have not been there lately.” “With pleasure, Mr. Devil-take-the-name, and much obleeged into the bargain,” exclaimed the proprietor of the Lanthorn and Cat; then in the fulness of his heart and the communicativeness of the feelings which Mr. Pickwick’s kindness and the bottled porter had together encouraged, he proceeded to favour that gentleman with a slight sketch of his volatile son’s past life. It appears that when Mr. Adolphus Crashem, alzas Mr. William Sugden, arrived at the age of fifteen, a practised utilitarian and generous patron of the working-classes, placed at his unqualified disposal the sum of six guineas per annum and a couple of suits of livery, in re- Gomichbooks.co