Pickwick.
'Ah, Ramsey--a precious seedy-looking customer. "Well, sir,"
says old Fogg, looking at him very fierce--you know his way--
"well, Sir, have you come to settle?" "Yes, I have, sir," said
Ramsey, putting his hand in his pocket, and bringing out the
money, "the debt's two pound ten, and the costs three pound
five, and here it is, Sir;" and he sighed like bricks, as he lugged out
the money, done up in a bit of blotting-paper. Old Fogg looked
first at the money, and then at him, and then he coughed in his
rum way, so that I knew something was coming. "You don't
know there's a declaration filed, which increases the costs
materially, I suppose," said Fogg. "You don't say that, sir,"
said Ramsey, starting back; "the time was only out last night,
Sir." "I do say it, though," said Fogg, "my clerk's just gone to
file it. Hasn't Mr. Jackson gone to file that declaration in
Bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?" Of course I said yes, and
then Fogg coughed again, and looked at Ramsey. "My God!"
said Ramsey; "and here have I nearly driven myself mad, scraping
this money together, and all to no purpose." "None at all," said
Fogg coolly; "so you had better go back and scrape some more
together, and bring it here in time.
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