At three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look
at his little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through
the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him
by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps. He turned here, to
look about him, and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the
crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not
happier for his sympathy and charity.
'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man
towards him, 'this is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about.'
'Very good, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, looking hard at
Jingle. 'You will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I hope
you may live to remember and feel deeply, what I shall have to
communicate, Sir.'
Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took
Mr. Pickwick's proffered hand, and withdrew.
'Job you know, I think?' said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that
gentleman.
'I know the rascal,' replied Perker good-humouredly. 'See after
your friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do you hear?
Now, is there anything more?'
'Nothing,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'You have delivered the
little parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?'
'I have, Sir,' replied Sam.
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