The Pickwick Papers


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'
Good-morning, Sir,' said Pell, bowing obsequiously. 'We want to make  
a little transfer, if you please.'  
'
Oh, just come in, will you?' said Mr Flasher. 'Sit down a minute; I'll  
attend to you directly.'  
'Thank you, Sir,' said Pell, 'there's no hurry. Take a chair, Mr Weller.'  
Mr Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpires took  
what they could get, and looked at the almanac and one or two papers  
which were wafered against the wall, with as much open-eyed  
reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of the old masters.  
'
Well, I'll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!' said Wilkins  
Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which Mr Pell's  
entrance had caused a momentary interruption.  
This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore his  
hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk, killing flies  
with a ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing himself on two  
legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with a penknife, which he  
dropped every now and then with great dexterity into the very centre  
of a small red wafer that was stuck outside. Both gentlemen had very  
open waistcoats and very rolling collars, and very small boots, and  
very big rings, and very little watches, and very large guard-chains,  
and symmetrical inexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.  
'
'
'
'
I never bet half a dozen!' said the other gentleman. 'I'll take a dozen.'  
Done, Simmery, done!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.  
P. P., mind,' observed the other.  
Of course,' replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire,  
entered it in a little book, with a gold pencil-case, and the other  
gentleman entered it also, in another little book with another gold  
pencil-case.  
'I see there's a notice up this morning about Boffer,' observed Mr  
Simmery. 'Poor devil, he's expelled the house!'  
'I'll bet you ten guineas to five, he cuts his throat,' said Wilkins  
Flasher, Esquire.  
'
'
Done,' replied Mr Simmery.  
Stop! I bar,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully. 'Perhaps he  
may hang himself.'  


Page
767 768 769 770 771

Quick Jump
1 198 396 594 792