trousers there. He put his hand into the pocket, and drew forth the

identical letter the old gentleman had described!

‘Queer sort of thing, this,’ said Tom Smart, looking first at the chair

and then at the press, and then at the letter, and then at the chair

again. ‘Very queer,’ said Tom. But, as there was nothing in either, to

lessen the queerness, he thought he might as well dress himself, and

settle the tall man's business at once - just to put him out of his

misery.

Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his way downstairs,

with the scrutinising eye of a landlord; thinking it not impossible, that

before long, they and their contents would be his property. The tall

man was standing in the snug little bar, with his hands behind him,

quite at home. He grinned vacantly at Tom. A casual observer might

have supposed he did it, only to show his white teeth; but Tom Smart

thought that a consciousness of triumph was passing through the

place where the tall man's mind would have been, if he had had any.

Tom laughed in his face; and summoned the landlady.

'‘Good-morning ma'am,’ said Tom Smart, closing the door of the little

parlour as the widow entered.

‘Good-morning, Sir,’ said the widow. ‘What will you take for breakfast,

sir?’

'Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made no

answer.

‘There's a very nice ham,’ said the widow, ‘and a beautiful cold larded

fowl. Shall I send 'em in, Sir?’

'These words roused Tom from his reflections. His admiration of the

widow increased as she spoke. Thoughtful creature! Comfortable

provider!

‘Who is that gentleman in the bar, ma'am?’ inquired Tom.

‘His name is Jinkins, Sir,’ said the widow, slightly blushing.

‘He's a tall man,’ said Tom.

‘He is a very fine man, Sir,’ replied the widow, ‘and a very nice

gentleman.’

‘Ah!’ said Tom.

The Pickwick Papers