'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew nigh, 'you
will see how your health becomes, and think about it meanwhile. Make
the statement out for me when you feel yourself equal to the task, and I
will discuss the subject with you when I have considered it. Now, go to
your room. You are tired, and not strong enough to be out long.'

Mr. Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation--with nothing
even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed when Mr. Pickwick
first stumbled on him in his misery--bowed low without speaking, and,
motioning to Job not to follow him just yet, crept slowly away.

'Curious scene this, is it not, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
good-humouredly round.

'Wery much so, Sir,' replied Sam. 'Wonders 'ull never cease,' added Sam,
speaking to himself. 'I'm wery much mistaken if that 'ere Jingle worn't
a-doin somethin' in the water-cart way!'

The area formed by the wall in that part of the Fleet in which Mr.
Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good racket-court; one
side being formed, of course, by the wall itself, and the other by that
portion of the prison which looked (or rather would have looked, but for
the wall) towards St. Paul's Cathedral. Sauntering or sitting about,
in every possible attitude of listless idleness, were a great number of
debtors, the major part of whom were waiting in prison until their day
of 'going up' before the Insolvent Court should arrive; while others
had been remanded for various terms, which they were idling away as they
best could. Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a few clean;
but there they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk about with as little
spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie.

Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of this promenade were
a number of persons, some in noisy conversation with their acquaintance
below, others playing at ball with some adventurous throwers outside,
others looking on at the racket-players, or watching the boys as they
cried the game. Dirty, slipshod women passed and repassed, on their way
to the cooking-house in one corner of the yard; children screamed, and
fought, and played together, in another; the tumbling of the skittles,
and the shouts of the players, mingled perpetually with these and a
hundred other sounds; and all was noise and tumult--save in a little
miserable shed a few yards off, where lay, all quiet and ghastly, the
body of the Chancery priso