ture?'

Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near as possible
to the portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the most fervent and
disinterested friendship.

'There's nothing you want to give out for the man to brush, my dear
creature, is there?' resumed Smangle.

'Nothin' whatever, my fine feller,' rejoined Sam, taking the reply into
his own mouth. 'P'raps if vun of us wos to brush, without troubling the
man, it 'ud be more agreeable for all parties, as the schoolmaster said
when the young gentleman objected to being flogged by the butler.'

'And there's nothing I can send in my little box to the washer-woman's,
is there?' said Smangle, turning from Sam to Mr. Pickwick, with an air
of some discomfiture.

'Nothin' whatever, Sir,' retorted Sam; 'I'm afeered the little box must
be chock full o' your own as it is.'

This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive look at that
particular portion of Mr. Smangle's attire, by the appearance of which
the skill of laundresses in getting up gentlemen's linen is generally
tested, that he was fain to turn upon his heel, and, for the present at
any rate, to give up all design on Mr. Pickwick's purse and wardrobe.
He accordingly retired in dudgeon to the racket-ground, where he made a
light and whole-some breakfast on a couple of the cigars which had been
purchased on the previous night. Mr. Mivins, who was no smoker, and
whose account for small articles of chandlery had also reached down
to the bottom of the slate, and been 'carried over' to the other side,
remained in bed, and, in his own words, 'took it out in sleep.'

After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffee-room, which
bore the imposing title of the Snuggery, the temporary inmate of which,
in consideration of a small additional charge, had the unspeakable
advantage of overhearing all the conversation in the coffee-room
aforesaid; and, after despatching Mr. Weller on some necessary errands,
Mr. Pickwick repaired to the lodge, to consult Mr. Roker concerning his
future accommodation.

'Accommodation, eh?' said that gentleman, consulting a large book.
'Plenty of that, Mr. Pickwick. Your chummage ticket will be on
twenty-seven, in the third.'

'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'My what, did you say?'

'Your chummage ticket,' replied Mr. Roker; 'you're up to that?'

'Not quite,' replied Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.

'Why,' said Mr. Roker, 'it's as plain as Salisbury. You'll have a
chummag