on public characters, was paralysed beneath the glance of the

imperious Mrs. Pott.

Mrs. Leo Hunter looked round her in triumph. Count Smorltork was

busily engaged in taking notes of the contents of the dishes; Mr

Tupman was doing the honours of the lobster salad to several

lionesses, with a degree of grace which no brigand ever exhibited

before; Mr Snodgrass having cut out the young gentleman who cut up

the books for the Eatanswill GAZETTE, was engaged in an

impassioned argument with the young lady who did the poetry; and

Mr Pickwick was making himself universally agreeable. Nothing

seemed wanting to render the select circle complete, when Mr Leo

Hunter - whose department on these occasions, was to stand about in

doorways, and talk to the less important people - suddenly called out -

'My dear; here's Mr Charles Fitz-Marshall.'

'Oh dear,' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'how anxiously I have been expecting

him. Pray make room, to let Mr Fitz-Marshall pass. Tell Mr Fitz-

Marshall, my dear, to come up to me directly, to be scolded for coming

so late.'

'Coming, my dear ma'am,' cried a voice, 'as quick as I can - crowds of

people - full room - hard work - very.'

Mr Pickwick's knife and fork fell from his hand. He stared across the

table at Mr Tupman, who had dropped his knife and fork, and was

looking as if he were about to sink into the ground without further

notice.

'Ah!' cried the voice, as its owner pushed his way among the last five-

and-twenty Turks, officers, cavaliers, and Charles the Seconds, that

remained between him and the table, 'regular mangle - Baker's patent

not a crease in my coat, after all this squeezing - might have ‘got up

my linen’ as I came along - ha! ha! not a bad idea, that - queer thing

to have it mangled when it's upon one, though - trying process - very.'

With these broken words, a young man dressed as a naval officer

made his way up to the table, and presented to the astonished

Pickwickians the identical form and features of Mr Alfred Jingle. The

offender had barely time to take Mrs. Leo Hunter's proffered hand,

when his eyes encountered the indignant orbs of Mr Pickwick.

Hollo!' said Jingle. 'Quite forgot - no directions to postillion - give 'em

at once - back in a minute.'

The servant, or Mr Hunter will do it in a moment, Mr Fitz-Marshall,'

said Mrs. Leo Hunter.

The Pickwick Papers