that the capture was made, and that he was to wait for the prisoner

until he should have finished dressing, Namby then swaggered out,

and drove away. Smouch, requesting Mr Pickwick in a surly manner

to be as alive as he could, for it was a busy time,' drew up a chair by

the door and sat there, until he had finished dressing. Sam was then

despatched for a hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirate proceeded

to Coleman Street. It was fortunate the distance was short; for Mr

Smouch, besides possessing no very enchanting conversational

powers, was rendered a decidedly unpleasant companion in a limited

space, by the physical weakness to which we have elsewhere adverted.

The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street, stopped

before a house with iron bars to all the windows; the door-posts of

which were graced by the name and title of 'Namby, Officer to the

Sheriffs of London'; the inner gate having been opened by a gentleman

who might have passed for a neglected twin-brother of Mr Smouch,

and who was endowed with a large key for the purpose, Mr Pickwick

was shown into the 'coffee-room.'

This coffee-room was a front parlour, the principal features of which

were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr Pickwick bowed to the

three persons who were seated in it when he entered; and having

despatched Sam for Perker, withdrew into an obscure corner, and

looked thence with some curiosity upon his new companions.

One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who, though it was

yet barely ten o'clock, was drinking gin-and-water, and smoking a

cigar - amusements to which, judging from his inflamed countenance,

he had devoted himself pretty constantly for the last year or two of his

life. Opposite him, engaged in stirring the fire with the toe of his right

boot, was a coarse, vulgar young man of about thirty, with a sallow

face and harsh voice; evidently possessed of that knowledge of the

world, and captivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquired in

public-house parlours, and at low billiard tables. The third tenant of

the apartment was a middle-aged man in a very old suit of black, who

looked pale and haggard, and paced up and down the room

incessantly; stopping, now and then, to look with great anxiety out of

the window as if he expected somebody, and then resuming his walk.

You'd better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr Ayresleigh,'

said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping the wink to his friend

the boy.

Thank you, no, I shan't want it; I expect I shall be out, in the course

of an hour or so,' replied the other in a hurried manner. Then, walking

again up to the window, and once more returning disappointed, he

sighed deeply, and left the room; upon which the other two burst into

a loud laugh.

The Pickwick Papers