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cessation. At every good stroke he expressed his
satisfaction and approval of the player in a most condescending
and patronising manner, which could not fail to have been
highly gratifying to the party concerned; while at every bad
attempt at a catch, and every failure to stop the ball, he launched
his personal displeasure at the head of the devoted individual in
such denunciations as--Ah, ah!--stupid--Now, butter-
fingers--Muff--Humbug--and so forth--ejaculations which
seemed to establish him in the opinion of all around, as a most
excellent and undeniable judge of the whole art and mystery of
the noble game of cricket.
Capital game--well played--some strokes admirable, said the
stranger, as both sides crowded into the tent, at the conclusion of
the game.
You have played it, sir? inquired Mr. Wardle, who had been
much amused by his loquacity.
Played it! Think I have--thousands of times--not here--West
Indies--exciting thing--hot work--very.
It must be rather a warm pursuit in such a climate, observed
Mr. Pickwick.
Warm!--red hot--scorching--glowing. Played a match once--single wicket--friend the
colonel--Sir Thomas Blazo--who
should get the greatest number of runs.--Won the toss--first
innings--seven oclock A.m.--six natives to look out--went in;
kept in--heat intense--natives all fainted--taken away--fresh
half-dozen ordered--fainted also--Blazo bowling--supported by
two natives--couldnt bowl me out--fainted too--cleared away
the colonel--wouldnt give in--faithful attendant--Quanko
Samba--last man left--sun so hot, bat in blisters, ball scorched
brown--five hundred and seventy runs--rather exhausted--
Quanko mustered up last remaining strength--bowled me out--
had a bath, and went out to dinner.
And what became of whats-his-name, Sir? inquired an
old gentleman.
Blazo?
No--the other gentleman.
Quanko Samba?
Yes, sir.
Poor Quanko--never recovered it--bowled on, on my account
--bowled off, on his own--died, sir. Here the stranger buried his
countenance in a brown jug, but whether to hide his emotion or
imbibe its contents, we cannot distinctly affirm. We only know
that he paused suddenly, drew a long and deep breath, and
looked anxiously on, as two of the principal members of the
Dingley Dell club approached Mr. Pickwick, and said--
We are about to partake of a plain dinner at the Blue Lion,
Sir; we hope you and your friends will join us.
Of course, said Mr. Wardle, among our friends we include
Mr.--; and he looked towards the stranger.
Jingle, said that versatile gentleman, taking the hint at once.
Jingle--Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere.
I shall be very happy, I am sure, said Mr. Pickwick.
So shall I, said Mr. Alfred Jingle, drawing one arm through
Mr. Pickwicks, and another through Mr. Wardles, as he
whispered confidentially in the ear of the former gentleman:--
Devilish good dinner--cold, but capital--peeped into the
room this morning--fowls and pies, and all that sort of thing--
pleasant fellows these--well behaved, too--very.
There being no further preliminaries to arrange, the company
straggled into the town in little knots of twos and threes; and
within a quarter of an hour were all seated in the great room of
the Blue Lion Inn, Muggleton--Mr. Dumkins acting as chairman,
and Mr. Luffey officiating as vice.
There was a vast deal of talking and rattling of knives and
forks, and plates; a great running about of three ponderous-
headed waiters, and a rapid disappearance of the substantial
viands on the table; to each and every of which item of confusion,
the facetious Mr. Jingle lent the aid of half-a-dozen ordinary men
at least. When everybody had eaten as much as possible, the cloth
was removed, bottles, glasses, and dessert were placed on the
table; and the waiters withdrew to clear away,or in other words,
to appropriate to their own private use and emolument whatever
remnants of the eatables and drinkables they could contrive to
lay their hands on.
Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that ensued,
there was a little man with a puffy Say-nothing-to-me,-or-Ill-
contradict-you sort of countenance, who remained very quiet;
occasionally looking round him when the conversation slackened,
as if he contemplated putting in something very weighty; and
now and then bursting into a short cough of inexpressible
grandeur. At length, during a moment of comparative silence, the
little man called out in a very loud, solemn voice,--
Mr. Luffey!
Everybody was hushed into a profound stillness as the individual
addressed, replied--
Sir!
I wish to address a few words to you, Sir, if you will entreat the
gentlemen to fill their glasses.
Mr. Jingle uttered a patronising Hear, hear, which was
responded to by the remainder of the company; and the glasses
having been filled, the vice-president assumed an air of wisdom
in a state of profound attention; and said--
Mr. Staple.
Sir, said the little man, rising, I wish to address what I have
to say to you and not to our The Pickwick Papers page 44 The Pickwick Papers page 46 |