He was about to propound the question to Namby, who kept
close beside him, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger,
when Perker bustled up, and observing that there was no time to
lose, led the way into the inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed, the
lame man stepped up to him, and civilly touching his hat, held
out a written card, which Mr. Pickwick, not wishing to hurt the
man's feelings by refusing, courteously accepted and deposited in
his waistcoat pocket.
'Now,' said Perker, turning round before he entered one of the
offices, to see that his companions were close behind him. 'In
here, my dear sir. Hallo, what do you want?'
This last question was addressed to the lame man, who,
unobserved by Mr. Pickwick, made one of the party. In reply to it,
the lame man touched his hat again, with all imaginable politeness,
and motioned towards Mr. Pickwick.
'No, no,' said Perker, with a smile. 'We don't want you, my
dear friend, we don't want you.'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the lame man. 'The gentleman
took my card. I hope you will employ me, sir. The gentleman
nodded to me. I'll be judged by the gentleman himself. You
nodded to me, sir?'
'Pooh, pooh, nonsense.
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