Pickwick's view, as he looked round him in amazement. The
noise of some one stumbling hastily into the room, roused him.
Turning his eyes towards the door, they encountered the new-
comer; and in him, through his rags and dirt, he recognised the
familiar features of Mr. Job Trotter.
'Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed Job aloud.
'Eh?' said Jingle, starting from his seat. 'Mr --! So it is--
queer place--strange things--serves me right--very.' Mr. Jingle
thrust his hands into the place where his trousers pockets used to
be, and, dropping his chin upon his breast, sank back into his chair.
Mr. Pickwick was affected; the two men looked so very miserable.
The sharp, involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a small
piece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in with him,
said more of their reduced state than two hours' explanation
could have done. Mr. Pickwick looked mildly at Jingle, and said--
'I should like to speak to you in private. Will you step out for
an instant?'
'Certainly,' said Jingle, rising hastily. 'Can't step far--no
danger of overwalking yourself here--spike park--grounds
pretty--romantic, but not extensive--open for public inspection
--family always in town--housekeeper desperately careful--very.
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