Pickwick
into the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested
himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment, which he took
out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of
cartridge and blotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a
pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.
'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, 'now I'm complete.
I've got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as
soon as he likes. You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you,
have you?'
'No, I have not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'I'm sorry for it,' said Lowten. 'Never mind. I'll run out
presently, and get a bottle of soda. Don't I look rather queer
about the eyes, Mr. Pickwick?'
The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten's eyes from
a distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness
was perceptible in those features.
'I'm glad of it,' said Lowten. 'We were keeping it up pretty
tolerably at the Stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this
morning. Perker's been about that business of yours, by the bye.'
'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'Mrs. Bardell's costs?'
'No, I don't mean that,' replied Mr.
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