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The Pickwick Papers 59







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The Pickwick Papers

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a seat, vile I makes out the affidavit, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Thankee, Sir," says my father, and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his mouth vide open, at the names on the boxes. "Whats your name, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Tony Weller," says my father.--"Parish?" says the lawyer. "Belle Savage," says my father; for he stopped there wen he drove up, and he knowd nothing about parishes, he didnt.--"And whats the ladys name?" says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. "Blessed if I know," says he.-- "Not know!" says the lawyer.--"No more nor you do," says my father; "cant I put that in arterwards?"--"Impossible!" says the lawyer.--"Wery well," says my father, after hed thought a moment, "put down Mrs. Clarke."--"What Clarke?" says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink.--"Susan Clarke, Markis o Granby, Dorking," says my father; "shell have me, if I ask. I des-say--I never said nothing to her, but shell have me, I know." The licence was made out, and she DID have him, and whats more shes got him now; and I never had any of the four hundred pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir, said Sam, when he had concluded, but wen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a new barrow with the wheel greased. Having said which, and having paused for an instant to see whether he was wanted for anything more, Sam left the room. Half-past nine--just the time--off at once; said the gentleman, whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle. Time--for what? said the spinster aunt coquettishly. Licence, dearest of angels--give notice at the church--call you mine, to-morrow--said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster aunts hand. The licence! said Rachael, blushing. The licence, repeated Mr. Jingle-- In hurry, post-haste for a licence, In hurry, ding dong I come back. How you run on, said Rachael. Run on--nothing to the hours, days, weeks, months, years, when were united--run on--theyll fly on--bolt--mizzle-- steam-engine--thousand-horse power--nothing to it. Cant--cant we be married before to-morrow morning? inquired Rachael. Impossible--cant be--notice at the church--leave the licence to-day--ceremony come off to-morrow. I am so terrified, lest my brother should discover us! said Rachael. Discover--nonsense--too much shaken by the break-down-- besides--extreme caution--gave up the post-chaise--walked on --took a hackney-coach--came to the Borough--last place in the world that hed look in--ha! ha!--capital notion that--very. Dont be long, said the spinster affectionately, as Mr. Jingle stuck the pinched-up hat on his head. Long away from you?--Cruel charmer; and Mr. Jingle skipped playfully up to the spinster aunt, imprinted a chaste kiss upon her lips, and danced out of the room. Dear man! said the spinster, as the door closed after him. Rum old girl, said Mr. Jingle, as he walked down the passage. It is painful to reflect upon the perfidy of our species; and we will not, therefore, pursue the thread of Mr. Jingles meditations, as he wended his way to Doctors Commons. It will be sufficient for our purpose to relate, that escaping the snares of the dragons in white aprons, who guard the entrance to that enchanted region, he reached the vicar-generals office in safety and having procured a highly flattering address on parchment, from the Archbishop of Canterbury, to his trusty and well-beloved Alfred Jingle and Rachael Wardle, greeting, he carefully deposited the mystic document in his pocket, and retraced his steps in triumph to the Borough. He was yet on his way to the White Hart, when two plump gentleman and one thin one entered the yard, and looked round in search of some authorised person of whom they could make a few inquiries. Mr. Samuel Weller happened to be at that moment engaged in burnishing a pair of painted tops, the personal property of a farmer who was refreshing himself with a slight lunch of two or three pounds of cold beef and a pot or two of porter, after the fatigues of the Borough market; and to him the thin gentleman straightway advanced. My friend, said the thin gentleman. Youre one o the adwice gratis order, thought Sam, or you wouldnt be so wery fond o me all at once. But he only said-- Well, Sir. My friend, said the thin gentleman, with a conciliatory hem-- have you got many people stopping here now? Pretty busy. Eh? Sam stole a look at the inquirer. He was a little high-dried man, with a dark squeezed-up face, and small, restless, black eyes, that kept winking and twinkling on each side of

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