arm, to Mr Winkle's; Bob Sawyer impregnating the atmosphere with

tobacco smoke as he walked along.

About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-looking street,

stood an old red brick house with three steps before the door, and a

brass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals, the words, 'Mr

Winkle.'The steps were very white, and the bricks were very red, and

the house was very clean; and here stood Mr Pickwick, Mr Benjamin

Allen, and Mr Bob Sawyer, as the clock struck ten.

A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started on beholding

the three strangers.

Is Mr Winkle at home, my dear?' inquired Mr Pickwick.

He is just going to supper, Sir,' replied the girl.

Give him that card if you please,' rejoined Mr Pickwick. 'Say I am

sorry to trouble him at so late an hour; but I am anxious to see him

to-night, and have only just arrived.' The girl looked timidly at Mr Bob

Sawyer, who was expressing his admiration of her personal charms by

a variety of wonderful grimaces; and casting an eye at the hats and

greatcoats which hung in the passage, called another girl to mind the

door while she went upstairs. The sentinel was speedily relieved; for

the girl returned immediately, and begging pardon of the gentlemen

for leaving them in the street, ushered them into a floor-clothed back

parlour, half office and half dressing room, in which the principal

useful and ornamental articles of furniture were a desk, a wash- hand

stand and shaving-glass, a boot-rack and boot-jack, a high stool, four

chairs, a table, and an old eight-day clock. Over the mantelpiece were

the sunken doors of an iron safe, while a couple of hanging shelves for

books, an almanac, and several files of dusty papers, decorated the

walls.

Very sorry to leave you standing at the door, Sir,' said the girl,

lighting a lamp, and addressing Mr Pickwick with a winning smile,

but you was quite strangers to me; and we have such a many

trampers that only come to see what they can lay their hands on, that

really - '

'There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,' said Mr

Pickwick good-humouredly.

'Not the slightest, my love,' said Bob Sawyer, playfully stretching forth

his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if to prevent the young

lady's leaving the room.

The Pickwick Papers