There was a
third young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle;
and an old one behind, who was familiar with farming. There
was a constant succession of Christian names in smock-frocks
and white coats, who were invited to have a 'lift' by the guard,
and who knew every horse and hostler on the road and off it;
and there was a dinner which would have been cheap at half-a-
crown a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have
eaten it in the time. And at seven o'clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and
his friends, and Mr. Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to
their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the
Great Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters, from their costume,
might be mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroy the
illusion by behaving themselves much better.
Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding
morning, when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a
request to be allowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr.
Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card, by bringing
himself and the friend also.
The friend was a charming young man of not much more than
fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,
black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished
boots.
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