The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand, and replied

that he didn't know yet; he must go and see where he could move his

bed to.

'I am afraid, sir,' said Mr Pickwick, laying his hand gently and

compassionately on his arm - 'I am afraid you will have to live in some

noisy, crowded place. Now, pray, consider this room your own when

you want quiet, or when any of your friends come to see you.'

Friends!' interposed the man, in a voice which rattled in his throat. 'if

I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine in the world; tight

screwed down and soldered in my coffin; rotting in the dark and filthy

ditch that drags its slime along, beneath the foundations of this

prison; I could not be more forgotten or unheeded than I am here. I

am a dead man; dead to society, without the pity they bestow on those

whose souls have passed to judgment. Friends to see me! My God! I

have sunk, from the prime of life into old age, in this place, and there

is not one to raise his hand above my bed when I lie dead upon it, and

say, ‘It is a blessing he is gone!’'

The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over the man's

face, while he spoke, subsided as he concluded; and pressing his

withered hands together in a hasty and disordered manner, he

shuffled from the room.

Rides rather rusty,' said Mr Roker, with a smile. 'Ah! they're like the

elephants. They feel it now and then, and it makes 'em wild!'

Having made this deeply-sympathising remark, Mr Roker entered

upon his arrangements with such expedition, that in a short time the

room was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, a table, a sofa bedstead,

a tea-kettle, and various small articles, on hire, at the very reasonable

rate of seven-and-twenty shillings and sixpence per week.

'Now, is there anything more we can do for you?' inquired Mr Roker,

looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily chinking the first

week's hire in his closed fist.

Why, yes,' said Mr Pickwick, who had been musing deeply for some

time. 'Are there any people here who run on errands, and so forth?'

Outside, do you mean?' inquired Mr Roker.

Yes. I mean who are able to go outside. Not prisoners.'

Yes, there is,' said Roker. 'There's an unfortunate devil, who has got a

friend on the poor side, that's glad to do anything of that sort. He's

The Pickwick Papers