Chapter XL

Introduces Mr Pickwick To A New And Not Uninteresting Scene In

The Great Drama Of Life

The remainder of the period which Mr Pickwick had assigned as the

duration of the stay at Bath passed over without the occurrence of

anything material. Trinity term commenced. On the expiration of its

first week, Mr Pickwick and his friends returned to London; and the

former gentleman, attended of course by Sam, straightway repaired to

his old quarters at the George and Vulture.

On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in the

city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about nine

hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air in

George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove up, out

of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the reins to a stout

man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman, who seemed

made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him.

The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. It was not

what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it a taxed cart,

nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and yet it had something

of the character of each and every of these machines. It was painted a

bright yellow, with the shafts and wheels picked out in black; and the

driver sat in the orthodox sporting style, on cushions piled about two

feet above the rail. The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal

enough; but with something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him,

nevertheless, which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.

The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair, and

carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly gorgeous

manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him - all about three

sizes larger than those which are usually worn by gentlemen - and a

rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into one pocket of this greatcoat,

he thrust his left hand the moment he dismounted, while from the

other he drew forth, with his right, a very bright and glaring silk

handkerchief, with which he whisked a speck or two of dust from his

boots, and then, crumpling it in his hand, swaggered up the court.

It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person

dismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn of

divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on the

opposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationary close

by. Having something more than a suspicion of the object of the

gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to the George and Vulture, and,

turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centre of the doorway.

The Pickwick Papers