inly,' said Jingle, rising hastily. 'Can't step far--no danger of
overwalking yourself here--spike park--grounds pretty--romantic, but
not extensive--open for public inspection--family always in
town--housekeeper desperately careful--very.'

'You have forgotten your coat,' said Mr. Pickwick, as they walked out to
the staircase, and closed the door after them.

'Eh?' said Jingle. 'Spout--dear relation--uncle Tom--couldn't help
it--must eat, you know. Wants of nature--and all that.'

'What do you mean?'

'Gone, my dear sir--last coat--can't help it. Lived on a pair of boots,
whole fortnight. Silk umbrella--ivory handle--week--fact--honour--ask
Job--knows it.'

'Lived for three weeks upon a pair of boots, and a silk umbrella with an
ivory handle!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had only heard of such things
in shipwrecks or read of them in Constable's Miscellany.

'True,' said Jingle, nodding his head. 'Pawnbroker's shop--duplicates
here--small sums--mere nothing--all rascals.'

'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick, much relieved by this explanation; 'I
understand you. You have pawned your wardrobe.'

'Everything--Job's too--all shirts gone--never mind--saves washing.
Nothing soon--lie in bed--starve--die--inquest--little bone-house--poor
prisoner--common necessaries--hush it up--gentlemen of the
jury--warden's tradesmen--keep it snug--natural death--coroner's
order--workhouse funeral--serve him right--all over--drop the curtain.'

Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects in life, with
his accustomed volubility, and with various twitches of the countenance
to counterfeit smiles. Mr. Pickwick easily perceived that his
recklessness was assumed, and looking him full, but not unkindly, in the
face, saw that his eyes were moist with tears.

'Good fellow,' said Jingle, pressing his hand, and turning his
head away. 'Ungrateful dog--boyish to cry--can't help it--bad
fever--weak--ill--hungry. Deserved it all--but suffered much--very.'
Wholly unable to keep up appearances any longer, and perhaps rendered
worse by the effort he had made, the dejected stroller sat down on the
stairs, and, covering his face with his hands, sobbed like a child.

'Come, come,' said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable emotion, 'we will see
what can be done, when I know all about the matter. Here, Job; where is
that fellow?'

'Here, sir,' replied Job, presenting himself on the staircase. We have
described him, by the bye, as having deeply-sunken e