congregated on the racket-ground; they were very motley groups too,

and worth the looking at, if it were only in idle curiosity.

Well,' said Mr Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew nigh, 'you

will see how your health becomes, and think about it meanwhile.

Make the statement out for me when you feel yourself equal to the

task, and I will discuss the subject with you when I have considered

it. Now, go to your room. You are tired, and not strong enough to be

out long.'

Mr Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation - with

nothing even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed when Mr

Pickwick first stumbled on him in his misery - bowed low without

speaking, and, motioning to Job not to follow him just yet, crept

slowly away.

'Curious scene this, is it not, Sam?' said Mr Pickwick, looking good-

humouredly round.

Wery much so, Sir,' replied Sam. 'Wonders 'ull never cease,' added

Sam, speaking to himself. 'I'm wery much mistaken if that ,ere Jingle

worn't a-doin somethin' in the water-cart way!'

The area formed by the wall in that part of the Fleet in which Mr

Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good racket-court; one

side being formed, of course, by the wall itself, and the other by that

portion of the prison which looked (or rather would have looked, but

for the wall) towards St. Paul's Cathedral. Sauntering or sitting about,

in every possible attitude of listless idleness, were a great number of

debtors, the major part of whom were waiting in prison until their day

of 'going up' before the Insolvent Court should arrive; while others had

been remanded for various terms, which they were idling away as they

best could. Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a few

clean; but there they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk about with

as little spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie.

Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of this promenade

were a number of persons, some in noisy conversation with their

acquaintance below, others playing at ball with some adventurous

throwers outside, others looking on at the racket- players, or watching

the boys as they cried the game. Dirty, slipshod women passed and

repassed, on their way to the cooking- house in one corner of the

yard; children screamed, and fought, and played together, in another;

the tumbling of the skittles, and the shouts of the players, mingled

perpetually with these and a hundred other sounds; and all was noise

and tumult - save in a little miserable shed a few yards off, where lay,

all quiet and ghastly, the body of the Chancery prisoner who had died

the night before, awaiting the mockery of an inquest. The body! It is

The Pickwick Papers