his head, and finally overturning his candlestick in his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy Tupman managed to get into bed by a series of complicated evolutions, and shortly afterwards sank into repose.     

       Seven o’clock had hardly ceased striking on the following morning, when Mr. Pickwick’s comprehensive mind was aroused from the state of unconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged it, by a loud knocking at his chamber door.     

       ‘Who’s there?’ said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed.     

       ‘Boots, sir.’      

       ‘What do you want?’      

       ‘Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party wears a bright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button with “P. C.” on it?’      

       ‘It’s been given out to brush,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, ‘and the man has forgotten whom it belongs to.’      

       Mr. Winkle,’ he called out, ‘next room but two, on the right hand.’      

       ‘Thank’ee, sir,’ said the Boots, and away he went.     

       ‘What’s the matter?’ cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at his door roused him from his oblivious repose.     

       ‘Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?’ replied Boots from the outside.     

       ‘Winkle—Winkle!’ shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the inner room.     

       ‘Hollo!’ replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes.     

       ‘You’re wanted—some one at the door;’ and, having exerted himself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned round and fell fast asleep again.     

       ‘Wanted!’ said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and putting on a few articles of clothing; ‘wanted! at this distance from town—who on earth can want me?’      

       ‘Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir,’ replied the Boots, as Mr. Winkle opened the door and confronted him; ‘gentleman says he’ll not detain you a moment, Sir, but he can take no denial.’      

 Prev. P 32/848 next