Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 210: what you’re looking at

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

oar. PICKWICK ABROAD. 197 “¢ Hngash or French style?” demanded Sam. y—ine guests are a nelisn—and so the supper may as we oi ~ ° ° be,” reasoned Mr. Winkle with admirable logic. “Just so,” said Mr. Weller. ‘Let’s give ’em a reglar English turn out, as the King remarked ven he asked the French Ambassador io dime Of a ieg o' rautton and ingun sauce.” “That is precisely my idea,” coincided Mr. Winkle ‘* What shall we have, Sam?” ‘‘Diied tripe aim’t mo bad thing, Sir,” answered the valet; “ an’ oeef-steak puddin’ is better than nothin’ at all.” ““ Are they good things for supper, Sam ?” demanded the gentleman whom Mr. Fiekwick, with his usual prudence, had left to cater in his absence, *< No fault to pe found vith them ’ere, Sir, as the dentist said to the iady ven he drew the wrong teeth. But I tell you vot it is,” added Mr. Weller, applying nis finger to his nose and considerably disturb- ing both; “leave the arrangement of the grubbin’ part of the vork to me, and [’ll be bound the gov’nor shan't repent the depittyship.” Mr. Winkle yielded to Sam’s persuasion, after a moment’s reflec- tion, and thus terminated the important consultation in a manner about as satisfactory as if it had been the result of a ministerial debate on some measure calculated to assist the starving poor of England. At seven o’clock in the evening, the apartments, occupied by the Pickwickians, were one blaze of light, and one echo of laughter and glee. At a little distance from the drawing-room fire were ranged the founders of the feast, and their several guests. Mr. Tupman was in the easy chair—Mr. Winkle was in ecstasies—and Mr. Pickwick in pumps and silk stockings. Next to the first-named gentleman, was Mr. Hook Walker, whose clothes, had they not been seen by candle- hight, would have entitled him to the gratifying distinction of the Genius of Seediness ; but being deeply in his tradesmen’s debt, it may very well be inferred that he was not a little in their good books, At Mr. Pickwick’s right hand sate Mr. Septimus Chitty, Author of the ‘“‘ Creation,” &c., &c., and exhaling from his scented cambrie handker- chief as extensive an atmosphere of lavendar-water as if he had been a walking Sultan. Mr. Scuttle was also there; and he seemed so exceedingly fat, that he might well have been taken into consideration by the Municipal Corporation Bill, had such a measure at that period engaged the attention of the English senate. Next to Mr. Scuttle was a tall, good-looking young gentleman, of about two-and-twenty, with very long hair curling over his back, and a slight appendage of the same to his upper lip. He wore a light blue stock, a figured black silk waistcoat, three watch-chains, gold studs to his shirt, magnificent rings on his finger, black coat and trowsers, and patent leather boots. At the first cursory glance, he might have been mistaken for an itinerant jeweller’s shop; but a moment’s con- sideration would enable the most opaque mind to come to the conclu- sxon, that he had merely profited by the kindness of a tradesman who rad evidently had faith enough to remove entire chains—of moun- tains. his phenomenon was supported by a youth who might very well fave been taken for the David to his Goliath of a companion. He EO MMICLOOOL<S (E(@) =)