Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 198: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. sitting-room, their visual organs made them aware of the faci that ihe chair on the one side of the fire was occupied by Mr. Jeremiah Scuttle, - and the chair on the other side by Mr. Hook Walker. The latter gentleman was busily engaged in discussing a sandwich and a pint of Madeira which he had prudently ordered for his own benefit, and az Mr. Pickwick’s expense; and the former was as sedulously occupied in the perusal of Mr. Pickwick’s note-book which had accidentally been left upon the mantel-piece. ‘“‘ How do you do, gentlemen?” enquired Mr. Hook Walker, rising slowly from his chair, and disposing of his last glass of Madeira: ‘““vou see that it is a part of my system to make myself comfortable.” “¢So I perceive,” said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat abruptly. “Ah! Mr. Pickwick—Mr. Tupman—Mr. Winkle, how are you ?” exclaimed Mr. Scuttle. ‘‘God bless me! Why—TI declare, that in a fit of absence I have been reading your private memoranda, my dear sir!’ he added, with a look of astonishment at the mysterious pocket- book he held in his hand. “Oh! never mind,” cried the good-natured Mr. Pickwick, his con- science experiencing a slight twinge of remorse for the beating he had bestowed upon Mr. Scuttle on a certain occasion. | ‘“* However—you know how absent I am!” continued Mr. Scuttle, ‘‘ Indeed it was only yesterday morning that I was going to add fresh fuel to the fire in my study, and what do you think I did?” _ “ Let the fire go out, I suppose,” said Mr. Pickwick with a smile at the supposed shrewdness of his guess. f “No such thing, my dear Sir,” said Mr. Scuttle. ‘I put a chunk of wood, with my spectacles on it, in my easy-chair, and threw myself on the fire as a back log: Luckily there was no flame—or else I might have been burnt to death.” ** Very true,” coincided Mr! Pickwick. ‘‘ Therefore, if you’re so imprudent with regard to yourself, I beg you not to mind the inad- vertency you have just committed relative to my memoranda.” *¢ Well—that is kind of you,” said Mr. Scuttle, resuming his seat. ‘I took the liberty of calling upon you—for you must know that I don’t live here any longer; I took lodgings about eight or ten days ago—for the purpose of inviting you and your friends to a small party next Monday at my niece’s residence in the Rue Taitbout— Chaussée d’Autin—if you be not better engaged.’”’ There was no allusion as yet to the memorable combat which had taken place in Mr. Pickwick’s chamber, as detailed in a preceding chapter. Mr. Tupman thought that the niece must be a young, and very pro- - bably a pretty woman: he therefore hastened to accept of the invitation on his own account, suggesting, at the same time, that he did not think his friends would be otherwise occupied. To this bold assertion Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle assented; and Mr. Scuttle was enchanted at the success of his mission; indeed, it appeared that he had quite forgotten the disagreeable adventure alluded to above. ‘¢ My niece is a widow, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mr. Scuttle, while _ Mr. Tracy Tupman heaved a deep sigh: ‘“‘ her name is Weston—Mrs. Weston—and a very handsome person she is too, I flatter myself,” continued Mr. Scuttle, to the unutterable delight of the late admirer of Mademoiselle Anastasie de Volage. ‘‘This is her card—I shall COnnicloooKks (C(O)