her hackney coach, and carried off to Chancery Lane, after
waiting half an hour or so for Mr. Namby, who had a select dinner-party
and could on no account be disturbed before.

There were two judges in attendance at Serjeant's Inn--one King's
Bench, and one Common Pleas--and a great deal of business appeared to
be transacting before them, if the number of lawyer's clerks who were
hurrying in and out with bundles of papers, afforded any test. When they
reached the low archway which forms the entrance to the inn, Perker was
detained a few moments parlaying with the coachman about the fare and
the change; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be out of the way
of the stream of people that were pouring in and out, looked about him
with some curiosity.

The people that attracted his attention most, were three or four men
of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats to many of the
attorneys who passed, and seemed to have some business there, the
nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not divine. They were curious-looking
fellows. One was a slim and rather lame man in rusty black, and a white
neckerchief; another was a stout, burly person, dressed in the same
apparel, with a great reddish-black cloth round his neck; a third was
a little weazen, drunken-looking body, with a pimply face. They were
loitering about, with their hands behind them, and now and then with
an anxious countenance whispered something in the ear of some of the
gentlemen with papers, as they hurried by. Mr. Pickwick remembered to
have very often observed them lounging under the archway when he had
been walking past; and his curiosity was quite excited to know to what
branch of the profession these dingy-looking loungers could possibly
belong.

He was about to propound the question to Namby, who kept close beside
him, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger, when Perker bustled
up, and observing that there was no time to lose, led the way into
the inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed, the lame man stepped up to him, and
civilly touching his hat, held out a written card, which Mr. Pickwick,
not wishing to hurt the man's feelings by refusing, courteously accepted
and deposited in his waistcoat pocket.

'Now,' said Perker, turning round before he entered one of the offices,
to see that his companions were close behind him. 'In here, my dear sir.
Hallo, what do you want?'

This last question was addressed to the lame man, who, unobserved by Mr.
Pic