What a rum thing time is, ain't it, Neddy?'
The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed,
who appeared of a taciturn and thoughtful cast, merely echoed
the inquiry; Mr. Roker, shaking off the poetical and gloomy
train of thought into which he had been betrayed, descended to
the common business of life, and resumed his pen.
'Do you know what the third gentlemen is?' inquired Mr.
Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his
future associates.
'What is that Simpson, Neddy?' said Mr. Roker, turning to his
companion.
'What Simpson?' said Neddy.
'Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman's
going to be chummed on.'
'Oh, him!' replied Neddy; 'he's nothing exactly. He WAS a
horse chaunter: he's a leg now.'
'Ah, so I thought,' rejoined Mr. Roker, closing the book, and
placing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick's hands. 'That's
the ticket, sir.'
Very much perplexed by this summary disposition of this
person, Mr. Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving in
his mind what he had better do. Convinced, however, that before
he took any other steps it would be advisable to see, and hold
personal converse with, the three gentlemen with whom it was
proposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way to the third flight.
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