The Pickwick Papers


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'
One of 'em's a parson,' said Mr Roker, filling up a little piece of paper  
as he spoke; 'another's a butcher.'  
'
'
Eh?' exclaimed Mr Pickwick.  
A butcher,' repeated Mr Roker, giving the nib of his pen a tap on the  
desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark. 'What a thorough-paced  
goer he used to be sure-ly! You remember Tom Martin, Neddy?' said  
Roker, appealing to another man in the lodge, who was paring the  
mud off his shoes with a five-and- twenty-bladed pocket-knife.  
'
I should think so,' replied the party addressed, with a strong  
emphasis on the personal pronoun.  
'
Bless my dear eyes!' said Mr Roker, shaking his head slowly from side  
to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the grated windows before him,  
as if he were fondly recalling some peaceful scene of his early youth; 'it  
seems but yesterday that he whopped the coal-heaver down Fox-  
under-the-Hill by the wharf there. I think I can see him now, a-coming  
up the Strand between the two street-keepers, a little sobered by the  
bruising, with a patch o' winegar and brown paper over his right  
eyelid, and that 'ere lovely bulldog, as pinned the little boy arterwards,  
a-following at his heels. What a rum thing time is, ain't it, Neddy?'  
The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed, who  
appeared of a taciturn and thoughtful cast, merely echoed the inquiry;  
Mr Roker, shaking off the poetical and gloomy train of thought into  
which he had been betrayed, descended to the common business of  
life, and resumed his pen.  
'
Do you know what the third gentlemen is?' inquired Mr Pickwick, not  
very much gratified by this description of his future associates.  
'
What is that Simpson, Neddy?' said Mr Roker, turning to his  
companion.  
'
'
What Simpson?' said Neddy.  
Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman's going to  
be chummed on.'  
'Oh, him!' replied Neddy; 'he's nothing exactly. He WAS a horse  
chaunter: he's a leg now.'  
'Ah, so I thought,' rejoined Mr Roker, closing the book, and placing the  
small piece of paper in Mr Pickwick's hands. 'That's the ticket, sir.'  


Page
577 578 579 580 581

Quick Jump
1 198 396 594 792