ho reclined upon the back of the chair, reflecting, partly on the
situation of his master, and partly on the great satisfaction it would
have afforded him to make a fierce assault upon all the turnkeys there
assembled, one after the other, if it were lawful and peaceable so to
do.

At length the likeness was completed, and Mr. Pickwick was informed that
he might now proceed into the prison.

'Where am I to sleep to-night?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Why, I don't rightly know about to-night,' replied the stout turnkey.
'You'll be chummed on somebody to-morrow, and then you'll be all snug
and comfortable. The first night's generally rather unsettled, but
you'll be set all squares to-morrow.'

After some discussion, it was discovered that one of the turnkeys had
a bed to let, which Mr. Pickwick could have for that night. He gladly
agreed to hire it.

'If you'll come with me, I'll show it you at once,' said the man. 'It
ain't a large 'un; but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,
sir.'

They passed through the inner gate, and descended a short flight of
steps. The key was turned after them; and Mr. Pickwick found himself,
for the first time in his life, within the walls of a debtors' prison.

CHAPTER XLI. WHAT BEFELL Mr. PICKWICK WHEN HE GOT INTO THE FLEET; WHAT
PRISONERS HE SAW THERE, AND HOW HE PASSED THE NIGHT

Mr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Pickwick into the
prison, turned sharp round to the right when he got to the bottom of
the little flight of steps, and led the way, through an iron gate which
stood open, and up another short flight of steps, into a long narrow
gallery, dirty and low, paved with stone, and very dimly lighted by a
window at each remote end.

'This,' said the gentleman, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and
looking carelessly over his shoulder to Mr. Pickwick--'this here is the
hall flight.'

'Oh,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking down a dark and filthy staircase,
which appeared to lead to a range of damp and gloomy stone vaults,
beneath the ground, 'and those, I suppose, are the little cellars where
the prisoners keep their small quantities of coals. Unpleasant places to
have to go down to; but very convenient, I dare say.'

'Yes, I shouldn't wonder if they was convenient,' replied the gentleman,
'seeing that a few people live there, pretty snug. That's the Fair, that
is.'

'My friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you don't really mean to say that human
beings