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button, and he called his companions
attention to the large gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr.
Pickwick in the centre, and the letters P. C. on either side.
"P. C." said the stranger--queer set out--old fellows
likeness, and "P. C."--What does "P. C." stand for--Peculiar
Coat, eh?
Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance,
explained the mystic device.
Rather short in the waist, aint it? said the stranger, screwing
himself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,
which were half-way up his back. Like a general postmans coat
--queer coats those--made by contract--no measuring--
mysterious dispensations of Providence--all the short men get
long coats--all the long men short ones. Running on in this way,
Mr. Tupmans new companion adjusted his dress, or rather the
dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr. Tupman,
ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom.
What names, sir? said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy
Tupman was stepping forward to announce his own titles, when
the stranger prevented him.
No names at all; and then he whispered Mr. Tupman,
names wont do--not known--very good names in their way,
but not great ones--capital names for a small party, but wont
make an impression in public assemblies--incog. the thing--
gentlemen from London--distinguished foreigners--anything.
The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the
stranger entered the ballroom.
It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax
candles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined
in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being systematically
got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card-tables were
made up in the adjoining card-room, and two pair of old ladies,
and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen, were executing
whist therein.
The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and
Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a corner
to observe the company.
Charming women, said Mr. Tupman.
Wait a minute, said the stranger, fun presently--nobs not
come yet--queer place--dockyard people of upper rank dont
know dockyard people of lower rank--dockyard people of lower
rank dont know small gentry--small gentry dont know
tradespeople--commissioner dont know anybody.
Whos that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a
fancy dress?inquired Mr. Tupman.
Hush, pray--pink eyes--fancy dress--little boy--nonsense--
ensign 97th--Honourable Wilmot Snipe--great family--Snipes--very.
Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Misses Clubber!
shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great
sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a
tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady in
blue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scale, in fashionably-
made dresses of the same hue.
Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably
great man, whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupmans ear, as the
charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to
the top of the room. The Honourable Wilmot Snipe, and other
distinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the Misses
Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and looked
majestically over his black kerchief at the assembled company.
Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie, was the
next announcement.
Whats Mr. Smithie? inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.
Something in the yard, replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie
bowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas
Clubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension.
Lady Clubber took a telescopic view of Mrs. Smithie and family
through her eye-glass and Mrs. Smithie stared in her turn at
Mrs. Somebody-else, whose husband was not in the dockyard
at all.
Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder, were
the next arrivals.
Head of the garrison, said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupmans
inquiring look.
Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Misses Clubber; the
greeting between Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of
the most affectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas
Clubber exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair
of Alexander Selkirks--Monarchs of all they surveyed.
While the aristocracy of the place--the Bulders, and Clubbers,
and Snipes--were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end
of the room, the other classes of society were imitating their
example in other parts of it. The less aristocratic officers of the
97th devoted themselves to the families of the less important
functionaries from the dockyard. The solicitors wives, and the
wine-merchants wife, headed another grade (the brewers wife
visited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post-office keeper,
seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the leader of the
trade party.
One of the most popular personages, in his own circle, present,
was a little fat man, with a ring of upright black hair round The Pickwick Papers page 8 The Pickwick Papers page 10 |