Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 365: what you’re looking at

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

302 . Pickwick Abroad. his servant, ‘ There’s that infernal scoundrel of a tailor, Ben, go and tell him I’m not at home.’”’ ** You see, Sir, the private opinion which the Insolvent entertained of his creditor’s moral character,’’ observed Mr. Butler, with a look of the most profound erudition, to the Commissioner. _ The Commissioner glanced towards the witness, and shook his head mysteriously—a movement which plainly imtimated that he, Mr. Commissioner Buckphiz, knew, of his own private knowledge, that Mr. Stickemin was the most consummate scoundrel and desperate villain under the canopy of heaven. Mr. Butler suffered all this to make its due impression m favour of the Insolvent, and then again addressed himself to the opposing creditor. | | ‘“Now, Mr. Stickemin,” said the learned Counsel, ‘‘ will you have the kindness to inform us how you became aware that the Insolvent had pledged the—the—leather breeches, I think 2?” ~ * Yes, Sir—buckskin breeches,”’ observed Mr. Stickemin. ‘‘Qh! buckskin breeches, eh 2” said Mr. Butler. ‘‘ Well—Sir— about these buckskin breeches, then ;’”,—and the excellent lawyer laid prodigious emphasis upon those which are generally supposed to be unmentionables. : ‘Tl tell you how it was, Sir,” answerel Mr. Stickemin. ‘“‘ One Sunday morning, as I was going to Saint James’s church, I overtook Mr. Clegg, the great pawnbroker of Prince’s Street, who was walking the same way, quite promiscuously, along with Mrs. Clegg, Miss Je- mima, and little Orlando in his new suit, for he’d only been breeched the day before. So I passed the compliment of the morning to Clegg and his family, and we walked on together, as we happen to sit gene- rally in the same place. But llooked at my friend Clegg with an un- common sharp eye, for I saw that he’d got on a bran-new pair of buck- skin breeches; and on closer inspection I instantly recognised my own peculiar make and cut. Just at that moment we arrived at the church door, and so I couldn’t say any thing then. But when the parson was a-preaching the sermon, I put my head down in the pew and asked Mr. Clegg how he’d come by them breeches. ‘ Why,’ said he in a whisper, ‘ [ll tell you how it is. I’m going to take the saycra- ment,’ says he, ‘and so I thought I’d make myself uncommon smart, and do the thing a little genteel. Now, between ourselves, I never wear any clothes of my own—I have none, in fact. I never patronise a tailor; but I always appeay well drest, and no man has such a variety of attire. One day I wear a blue coat and brown trowsers ; another, a shooting-jacket and gaiters; and another, an entire suit of black.’ —‘ Well,’ said I, ‘that’s trne: but how the devil do you manage it 2’ —‘ Why,’ said he, ‘ I’ll tell you how it 1s: Lalways wear the clothes of my customers—the pledged articles, you know. For instance, this coat belongs to the clerk of a great publisher not a hundred miles off —this waistcoat was pawned a few days ago by the servant of a noble- man in the King’s Bench, who always patronises me—those boots were sent home by Macdonell to a young spark living in the Albany, and were pledged on the following morning—and of these breeches I’ve got six pairs. I shall give’em all a turn before I’ve done.’—‘ Oh! oh! and that hat,’ whispered I, to avoid exciting any suspicion on his part EORNIELIOO_ KS, ecoyag)