Jackson.
'Now,' said Jackson, 'I'm afraid you'll think me rather
troublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient.
I have Samuel Weller's name here, Mr. Pickwick.'
'Send my servant here, waiter,' said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter
retired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned
Jackson to a seat.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the
innocent defendant.
'I suppose, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while he
spoke--'I suppose, Sir, that it is the intention of your employers
to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?'
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left
side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the
secrets of the prison house, and playfully rejoined--
'Not knowin', can't say.'
'For what other reason, Sir,' pursued Mr. Pickwick, 'are these
subpoenas served upon them, if not for this?'
'Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,' replied Jackson, slowly
shaking his head. 'But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's
little to be got out of me.'
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and,
applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary
coffee-mill with his right hand, thereby performing a very
graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now,
unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated
'taking a grinder.
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