known that the moment you got any money in that pocket of yours,

you'd go to the devil faster, if possible, than you would without it - '

My dear sir,' urged the little man again.

Be quiet, Perker,' resumed Wardle. 'Leave the room, Sir.'

Off directly,' said the unabashed Jingle. 'Bye bye, Pickwick.' If any

dispassionate spectator could have beheld the countenance of the

illustrious man, whose name forms the leading feature of the title of

this work, during the latter part of this conversation, he would have

been almost induced to wonder that the indignant fire which flashed

from his eyes did not melt the glasses of his spectacles - so majestic

was his wrath. His nostrils dilated, and his fists clenched

involuntarily, as he heard himself addressed by the villain. But he

restrained himself again - he did not pulverise him.

Here,' continued the hardened traitor, tossing the licence at Mr

Pickwick's feet; 'get the name altered - take home the lady - do for

Tuppy.'

Mr Pickwick was a philosopher, but philosophers are only men in

armour, after all. The shaft had reached him, penetrated through his

philosophical harness, to his very heart. In the frenzy of his rage, he

hurled the inkstand madly forward, and followed it up himself. But Mr

Jingle had disappeared, and he found himself caught in the arms of

Sam.

'Hollo,' said that eccentric functionary, 'furniter's cheap where you

come from, Sir. Self-acting ink, that 'ere; it's wrote your mark upon

the wall, old gen'l'm'n. Hold still, Sir; wot's the use o' runnin' arter a

man as has made his lucky, and got to t'other end of the Borough by

this time?'

Mr Pickwick's mind, like those of all truly great men, was open to

conviction. He was a quick and powerful reasoner; and a moment's

reflection sufficed to remind him of the impotency of his rage. It

subsided as quickly as it had been roused. He panted for breath, and

looked benignantly round upon his friends.

Shall we tell the lamentations that ensued when Miss Wardle found

herself deserted by the faithless Jingle? Shall we extract Mr Pickwick's

masterly description of that heartrending scene? His note-book,

blotted with the tears of sympathising humanity, lies open before us;

one word, and it is in the printer's hands. But, no! we will be resolute!

We will not wring the public bosom, with the delineation of such

suffering!

The Pickwick Papers