Smangle was no gentleman, kindled his ire.
'Mivins!' said Mr. Smangle, with a passionate air.
'What's the office?' replied that gentleman from his couch.
'Who the devil is this fellow?'
''Gad,' said Mr. Mivins, looking lazily out from under the
bed-clothes, 'I ought to ask YOU that. Hasn't he any business here?'
'No,' replied Mr. Smangle.
'Then knock him downstairs, and tell him not to presume to
get up till I come and kick him,' rejoined Mr. Mivins; with this
prompt advice that excellent gentleman again betook himself to slumber.
The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms of
verging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit point at
which to interpose.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Sir,' rejoined that gentleman.
'Has anything new occurred since last night?'
'Nothin' partickler, sir,' replied Sam, glancing at Mr. Smangle's
whiskers; 'the late prewailance of a close and confined atmosphere
has been rayther favourable to the growth of veeds, of an
alarmin' and sangvinary natur; but vith that 'ere exception
things is quiet enough.'
'I shall get up,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'give me some clean things.'
Whatever hostile intentions Mr.
Pages:
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055