Smangle might have entertained,
his thoughts were speedily diverted by the unpacking
of the portmanteau; the contents of which appeared to impress
him at once with a most favourable opinion, not only of Mr.
Pickwick, but of Sam also, who, he took an early opportunity
of declaring in a tone of voice loud enough for that eccentric
personage to overhear, was a regular thoroughbred original,
and consequently the very man after his own heart. As
to Mr. Pickwick, the affection he conceived for him knew no limits.
'Now is there anything I can do for you, my dear Sir?' said Smangle.
'Nothing that I am aware of, I am obliged to you,' replied
Mr. Pickwick.
'No linen that you want sent to the washerwoman's? I know a
delightful washerwoman outside, that comes for my things twice
a week; and, by Jove!--how devilish lucky!--this is the day she
calls. Shall I put any of those little things up with mine? Don't
say anything about the trouble. Confound and curse it! if one
gentleman under a cloud is not to put himself a little out of the
way to assist another gentleman in the same condition, what's
human nature?'
Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near as
possible to the portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the
most fervent and disinterested friendship.
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