morning, was drawn out into the open space. A double tier of bedroom

galleries, with old Clumsy balustrades, ran round two sides of the

straggling area, and a double row of bells to correspond, sheltered

from the weather by a little sloping roof, hung over the door leading to

the bar and coffee-room. Two or three gigs and chaise-carts were

wheeled up under different little sheds and pent-houses; and the

occasional heavy tread of a cart-horse, or rattling of a chain at the

farther end of the yard, announced to anybody who cared about the

matter, that the stable lay in that direction. When we add that a few

boys in smock-frocks were lying asleep on heavy packages, wool-

packs, and other articles that were scattered about on heaps of straw,

we have described as fully as need be the general appearance of the

yard of the White Hart Inn, High Street, Borough, on the particular

morning in question.

A loud ringing of one of the bells was followed by the appearance of a

smart chambermaid in the upper sleeping gallery, who, after tapping

at one of the doors, and receiving a request from within, called over

the balustrades - 'Sam!'

Hollo,' replied the man with the white hat.

Number twenty-two wants his boots.'

Ask number twenty-two, vether he'll have 'em now, or vait till he gets

em,' was the reply.

'Come, don't be a fool, Sam,' said the girl coaxingly, 'the gentleman

wants his boots directly.'

Well, you ARE a nice young 'ooman for a musical party, you are,' said

the boot-cleaner. 'Look at these here boots - eleven pair o' boots; and

one shoe as belongs to number six, with the wooden leg. The eleven

boots is to be called at half-past eight and the shoe at nine. Who's

number twenty-two, that's to put all the others out? No, no; reg'lar

rotation, as Jack Ketch said, ven he tied the men up. Sorry to keep

you a-waitin', Sir, but I'll attend to you directly.'

Saying which, the man in the white hat set to work upon a top-boot

with increased assiduity.

There was another loud ring; and the bustling old landlady of the

White Hart made her appearance in the opposite gallery.

Sam,' cried the landlady, 'where's that lazy, idle - why, Sam - oh,

there you are; why don't you answer?'

The Pickwick Papers