Chapter XX

Showing How Dodson And Fogg Were Men Of Business, And Their

Clerks Men Of Pleasure; And How An Affecting Interview Took

Place Between Mr Weller And His Long-Lost Parent; Showing Also

What Choice Spirits Assembled At The Magpie And Stump, And

What A Capital Chapter The Next One Will Be

In the ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very farthest end of

Freeman's Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks of Messrs. Dodson &

Fogg, two of his Majesty's attorneys of the courts of King's Bench and

Common Pleas at Westminster, and solicitors of the High Court of

Chancery - the aforesaid clerks catching as favourable glimpses of

heaven's light and heaven's sun, in the course of their daily labours,

as a man might hope to do, were he placed at the bottom of a

reasonably deep well; and without the opportunity of perceiving the

stars in the day-time, which the latter secluded situation affords.

The clerks' office of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg was a dark, mouldy,

earthy-smelling room, with a high wainscotted partition to screen the

clerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old wooden chairs, a very

loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand, a row of hat-pegs,

and a few shelves, on which were deposited several ticketed bundles of

dirty papers, some old deal boxes with paper labels, and sundry

decayed stone ink bottles of various shapes and sizes. There was a

glass door leading into the passage which formed the entrance to the

court, and on the outer side of this glass door, Mr Pickwick, closely

followed by Sam Weller, presented himself on the Friday morning

succeeding the occurrence of which a faithful narration is given in the

last chapter.

'Come in, can't you!' cried a voice from behind the partition, in reply to

Mr Pickwick's gentle tap at the door. And Mr Pickwick and Sam

entered accordingly.

'Mr Dodson or Mr Fogg at home, sir?' inquired Mr Pickwick, gently,

advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition.

Mr Dodson ain't at home, and Mr Fogg's particularly engaged,' replied

the voice; and at the same time the head to which the voice belonged,

with a pen behind its ear, looked over the partition, and at Mr

Pickwick.

it was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulously parted on

one side, and flattened down with pomatum, was twisted into little

semi-circular tails round a flat face ornamented with a pair of small

eyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirt collar, and a rusty black

stock.

The Pickwick Papers