make his inquiries, Mr Winkle stepped into the little shop where the

gilt-labelled drawers and bottles were; and finding nobody there,

knocked with a half-crown on the counter, to attract the attention of

anybody who might happen to be in the back parlour, which he

judged to be the innermost and peculiar sanctum of the

establishment, from the repetition of the word surgery on the door -

painted in white letters this time, by way of taking off the monotony.

At the first knock, a sound, as of persons fencing with fire- irons,

which had until now been very audible, suddenly ceased; at the

second, a studious-looking young gentleman in green spectacles, with

a very large book in his hand, glided quietly into the shop, and

stepping behind the counter, requested to know the visitor's pleasure.

'I am sorry to trouble you, Sir,' said Mr Winkle, 'but will you have the

goodness to direct me to - '

Ha! ha! ha!' roared the studious young gentleman, throwing the large

book up into the air, and catching it with great dexterity at the very

moment when it threatened to smash to atoms all the bottles on the

counter. 'Here's a start!'

There was, without doubt; for Mr Winkle was so very much astonished

at the extraordinary behaviour of the medical gentleman, that he

involuntarily retreated towards the door, and looked very much

disturbed at his strange reception.

What, don't you know me?' said the medical gentleman. Mr Winkle

murmured, in reply, that he had not that pleasure.

'Why, then,' said the medical gentleman, 'there are hopes for me yet; I

may attend half the old women in Bristol, if I've decent luck. Get out,

you mouldy old villain, get out!' With this adjuration, which was

addressed to the large book, the medical gentleman kicked the volume

with remarkable agility to the farther end of the shop, and, pulling off

his green spectacles, grinned the identical grin of Robert Sawyer,

Esquire, formerly of Guy's Hospital in the Borough, with a private

residence in Lant Street.

'You don't mean to say you weren't down upon me?' said Mr Bob

Sawyer, shaking Mr Winkle's hand with friendly warmth.

Upon my word I was not,' replied Mr Winkle, returning his pressure.

I wonder you didn't see the name,' said Bob Sawyer, calling his

friend's attention to the outer door, on which, in the same white paint,

were traced the words 'Sawyer, late Nockemorf.'

The Pickwick Papers