It was in the evening, however, that the Peacock presented attractions

which enabled the two friends to resist even the invitations of the

gifted, though prosy, Pott. It was in the evening that the 'commercial

room' was filled with a social circle, whose characters and manners it

was the delight of Mr Tupman to observe; whose sayings and doings it

was the habit of Mr Snodgrass to note down.

Most people know what sort of places commercial rooms usually are.

That of the Peacock differed in no material respect from the generality

of such apartments; that is to say, it was a large, bare-looking room,

the furniture of which had no doubt been better when it was newer,

with a spacious table in the centre, and a variety of smaller dittos in

the corners; an extensive assortment of variously shaped chairs, and

an old Turkey carpet, bearing about the same relative proportion to

the size of the room, as a lady's pocket-handkerchief might to the floor

of a watch-box. The walls were garnished with one or two large maps;

and several weather-beaten rough greatcoats, with complicated capes,

dangled from a long row of pegs in one corner. The mantel-shelf was

ornamented with a wooden inkstand, containing one stump of a pen

and half a wafer; a road- book and directory; a county history minus

the cover; and the mortal remains of a trout in a glass coffin. The

atmosphere was redolent of tobacco-smoke, the fumes of which had

communicated a rather dingy hue to the whole room, and more

especially to the dusty red curtains which shaded the windows. On

the sideboard a variety of miscellaneous articles were huddled

together, the most conspicuous of which were some very cloudy fish-

sauce cruets, a couple of driving-boxes, two or three whips, and as

many travelling shawls, a tray of knives and forks, and the mustard.

Here it was that Mr Tupman and Mr Snodgrass were seated on the

evening after the conclusion of the election, with several other

temporary inmates of the house, smoking and drinking.

Well, gents,' said a stout, hale personage of about forty, with only one

eye - a very bright black eye, which twinkled with a roguish

expression of fun and good-humour, 'our noble selves, gents. I always

propose that toast to the company, and drink Mary to myself. Eh,

Mary!'

Get along with you, you wretch,' said the hand-maiden, obviously not

ill-pleased with the compliment, however.

Don't go away, Mary,' said the black-eyed man.

Let me alone, imperence,' said the young lady.

Never mind,' said the one-eyed man, calling after the girl as she left

the room. 'I'll step out by and by, Mary. Keep your spirits up, dear.'

The Pickwick Papers