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The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted than they were
surrounded by a branch mob of the honest and independent, who
forthwith set up three deafening cheers, which being responded to by
the main body (for it's not at all necessary for a crowd to know what
they are cheering about), swelled into a tremendous roar of triumph,
which stopped even the red-faced man in the balcony.
'
Hurrah!' shouted the mob, in conclusion.
'One cheer more,' screamed the little fugleman in the balcony, and out
shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast-iron, with steel works.
'
'
Slumkey for ever!' roared the honest and independent.
Slumkey for ever!' echoed Mr Pickwick, taking off his hat. 'No Fizkin!'
roared the crowd.
'
Certainly not!' shouted Mr Pickwick. 'Hurrah!' And then there was
another roaring, like that of a whole menagerie when the elephant has
rung the bell for the cold meat.
'Who is Slumkey?'whispered Mr Tupman.
'
I don't know,' replied Mr Pickwick, in the same tone. 'Hush. Don't ask
any questions. It's always best on these occasions to do what the mob
do.'
'
'
But suppose there are two mobs?' suggested Mr Snodgrass.
Shout with the largest,' replied Mr Pickwick.
Volumes could not have said more.
They entered the house, the crowd opening right and left to let them
pass, and cheering vociferously. The first object of consideration was
to secure quarters for the night.
'Can we have beds here?' inquired Mr Pickwick, summoning the
waiter.
'
Don't know, Sir,' replied the man; 'afraid we're full, sir - I'll inquire,
Sir.' Away he went for that purpose, and presently returned, to ask
whether the gentleman were 'Blue.'
As neither Mr Pickwick nor his companions took any vital interest in
the cause of either candidate, the question was rather a difficult one
to answer. In this dilemma Mr Pickwick bethought himself of his new
friend, Mr Perker.
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