Here they stopped, while the tipstaff delivered his papers; and
here Mr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain, until he
had undergone the ceremony, known to the initiated as 'sitting
for your portrait.'
'Sitting for my portrait?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Having your likeness taken, sir,' replied the stout turnkey.
'We're capital hands at likenesses here. Take 'em in no time, and
always exact. Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home.'
Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himself
down; when Mr. Weller, who stationed himself at the back of the
chair, whispered that the sitting was merely another term for
undergoing an inspection by the different turnkeys, in order that
they might know prisoners from visitors.
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'then I wish the artists would
come. This is rather a public place.'
'They von't be long, Sir, I des-say,' replied Sam. 'There's a
Dutch clock, sir.'
'So I see,' observed Mr. Pickwick.
'And a bird-cage, sir,' says Sam. 'Veels vithin veels, a prison in
a prison. Ain't it, Sir?'
As Mr. Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr. Pickwick
was aware that his sitting had commenced.
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