The Pickwick Papers


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'
‘Isn't there a 'Mister' before it?’ said my uncle. For he felt, gentlemen,  
that for a guard he didn't know, to call him Jack Martin, was a liberty  
which the Post Office wouldn't have sanctioned if they had known it.  
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‘No, there is not,’ rejoined the guard coolly.  
‘Is the fare paid?’ inquired my uncle.  
‘Of course it is,’ rejoined the guard.  
‘it is, is it?’ said my uncle. ‘Then here goes! Which coach?’  
‘This,’ said the guard, pointing to an old-fashioned Edinburgh and  
London mail, which had the steps down and the door open. ‘Stop!  
Here are the other passengers. Let them get in first.’  
'
As the guard spoke, there all at once appeared, right in front of my  
uncle, a young gentleman in a powdered wig, and a sky- blue coat  
trimmed with silver, made very full and broad in the skirts, which  
were lined with buckram. Tiggin and Welps were in the printed calico  
and waistcoat piece line, gentlemen, so my uncle knew all the  
materials at once. He wore knee breeches, and a kind of leggings  
rolled up over his silk stockings, and shoes with buckles; he had  
ruffles at his wrists, a three-cornered hat on his head, and a long  
taper sword by his side. The flaps of his waist- coat came half-way  
down his thighs, and the ends of his cravat reached to his waist. He  
stalked gravely to the coach door, pulled off his hat, and held it above  
his head at arm's length, cocking his little finger in the air at the same  
time, as some affected people do, when they take a cup of tea. Then he  
drew his feet together, and made a low, grave bow, and then put out  
his left hand. My uncle was just going to step forward, and shake it  
heartily, when he perceived that these attentions were directed, not  
towards him, but to a young lady who just then appeared at the foot  
of the steps, attired in an old-fashioned green velvet dress with a long  
waist and stomacher. She had no bonnet on her head, gentlemen,  
which was muffled in a black silk hood, but she looked round for an  
instant as she prepared to get into the coach, and such a beautiful  
face as she disclosed, my uncle had never seen - not even in a picture.  
She got into the coach, holding up her dress with one hand; and as  
my uncle always said with a round oath, when he told the story, he  
wouldn't have believed it possible that legs and feet could have been  
brought to such a state of perfection unless he had seen them with his  
own eyes.  
'
But, in this one glimpse of the beautiful face, my uncle saw that the  
young lady cast an imploring look upon him, and that she appeared  
terrified and distressed. He noticed, too, that the young fellow in the  
powdered wig, notwithstanding his show of gallantry, which was all  


Page
677 678 679 680 681

Quick Jump
1 198 396 594 792