Pickwick into the presence.
'Is Mr. Dodson in?' inquired Mr. Fogg.
'Just come in, Sir,' replied Jackson.
'Ask him to step here.'
'Yes, sir.' Exit Jackson.
'Take a seat, sir,' said Fogg; 'there is the paper, sir; my partner
will be here directly, and we can converse about this matter, sir.'
Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but, instead of
reading the latter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of
the man of business, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable-
diet sort of man, in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, and
small black gaiters; a kind of being who seemed to be an essential
part of the desk at which he was writing, and to have as much
thought or feeling.
After a few minutes' silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, portly,
stern-looking man, with a loud voice, appeared; and the
conversation commenced.
'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said Fogg.
'Ah! You are the defendant, Sir, in Bardell and Pickwick?'
said Dodson.
'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Well, sir,' said Dodson, 'and what do you propose?'
'Ah!' said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers' pockets,
and throwing himself back in his chair, 'what do you propose,
Mr Pickwick?'
'Hush, Fogg,' said Dodson, 'let me hear what Mr.
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