"Mr.Pickwick, ma'am," said a servant, as that gentleman approached the presiding goddess, with his hat in his hand, and the Brigand and Troubadour on either arm.
"What! Where!" exclaimed Mrs.Leo Hunter, starting up, in an affected rapture of surprise.
"Here," said Mr.Pickwick.
"Is it possible that I have really the gratification of beholding Mr.
Pickwick himself!" ejaculated Mrs.Leo Hunter.
"No other, ma'am," replied Mr.Pickwick, bowing very low."Permit me to introduce my friends--Mr.Tupman--Mr.Winkle--Mr.Snodgrass--to the authoress of `The Expiring Frog.' "Very few people but those who have tried it, know what a difficult process it is, to bow in green velvet smalls, and a tight jacket, and high-crowned hat: or in blue satin trunks and white silks: or knee-cords and top-boots that were never made for the wearer, and have been fixed upon him without the remotest reference to the comparative dimensions of himself and the suit.Never were such distortions as Mr.Tupman's frame underwent in his efforts to appear easy and graceful--never was such ingenious posturing, as his fancy-dressed friends exhibited.
"Mr.Pickwick," said Mrs.Leo Hunter, "I must make you promise not to stir from my side the whole day.There are hundreds of people here, that I must positively introduce you to.""You are very kind, ma'am," said Mr.Pickwick.
"In the first place, here are my little girls; I had almost forgotten them," said Minerva, carelessly pointing towards a couple of full-grown young ladies, of whom one might be about twenty, and the other a year or two older, and who were dressed in very juvenile costumes--whether to make them look young, or their mamma younger, Mr.Pickwick does not distinctly inform us.
"They are very beautiful," said Mr.Pickwick, as the juveniles turned away, after being presented.
"They are very like their mamma, sir," said Mr.Pott, majestically.
"Oh you naughty man," exclaimed Mrs.Leo Hunter, playfully tapping the Editor's arm with her fan.(Minerva with a fan!)"Why now, my dear Mrs.Hunter," said Mr.Pott, who was trumpeter in ordinary at the Den, "you know that when your picture was in the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, last year, everybody inquired whether it was intended for you, or your youngest daughter; for you were so much alike that there was no telling the difference between you.""Well, and if they did, why need you repeat it, before strangers?" said Mrs.Leo Hunter, bestowing another tap on the slumbering lion of the Eatanswill Gazette.
"Count, Count," screamed Mrs.Leo Hunter to a well-whiskered individual in a foreign uniform, who was passing by.
"Ah! you want me?" said the Count, turning back.
"I want to introduce two very clever people to each other," said Mrs.
Leo Hunter."Mr.Pickwick, I have great pleasure in introducing you to Count Smorltork." She added in a hurried whisper to Mr.Pickwick--"the famous foreigner--gathering materials for his great work on England--hem!--Count Smorltork, Mr.Pickwick."Mr.Pickwick saluted the Count with all the reverence due to so great a man, and the Count drew forth a set of tablets.
"What you say, Mrs.Hunt?" inquired the Count, smiling graciously on the gratified Mrs.Leo Hunter, "Pig Vig or Big Vig--what you call--Lawyer--eh?
I see--that is it.Big Vig"--and the Count was proceeding to enter Mr.
Pickwick in his tablets, as a gentleman of the long robe, who derived his name from the profession to which he belonged, when Mrs.Leo Hunter interposed.
"No, no, Count," said the lady, "Pick-wick.""Ah, ah, I see," replied the Count."Peek--Christian name; Weeks--surname;good, ver good.Peek Weeks.How you do, Weeks?""Quite well, I thank you," replied Mr.Pickwick, with all his usual affability."Have you been long in England?""Long--ver long time--fortnight--more."
"Do you stay here long?"
"One week."
"You will have enough to do," said Mr.Pickwick, smiling, "to gather all the materials you want, in that time.""Eh, they are gathered," said the Count.
"Indeed!" said Mr.Pickwick.
"They are here," added the Count, tapping his forehead significantly.
"Large book at home--full of notes--music, picture, science, poetry, poltic;all things."
"The word politics, sir," said Mr.Pickwick, "comprises, in itself, a difficult study of no inconsiderable magnitude.""Ah!" said the Count, drawing out the tablets again, "ver good--fine words to begin a chapter.Chapter forty-seven.Poltics.The word poltic surprises by himself--" And down went Mr.Pickwick's remark, in Count Smorltork's tablets, with such variations and additions as the Count's exuberant fancy suggested, or his imperfect knowledge of the language, occasioned.
"Count," said Mrs.Leo Hunter.
"Mrs.Hunt," replied the Count.
"This is Mr.Snodgrass, a friend of Mr.Pickwick's, and a poet.""Stop," exclaimed the Count, bringing out the tablets once more."Head, potry--chapter, literary friends--name Snowgrass; ver good.Introduced to Snowgrass--great poet, friend of Peek Weeks--by Mrs.Hunt, which wrote other sweet poem--what is that name?--Fog--Perspiring Fog--ver good--ver good indeed." And the Count put up his tablets, and with sundry bows and acknowledgments walked away, thoroughly satisfied that he had made the most important and valuable additions to his stock of information.
"Wonderful man, Count Smorltork," said Mrs.Leo Hunter.
"Sound philosopher," said Mr.Pott.
"Clear-headed, strong-minded person," added Mr.Snodgrass.
