's message, when the clock struck ten.

'There,' said Lowten, 'it's too late now. You can't get in to-night;
you've got the key of the street, my friend.'

'Never mind me,' replied Job. 'I can sleep anywhere. But won't it be
better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there, the first
thing in the morning?'

'Why,' responded Lowten, after a little consideration, 'if it was in
anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my going up to
his house; but as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may venture to take a
cab and charge it to the office.' Deciding on this line of conduct, Mr.
Lowten took up his hat, and begging the assembled company to appoint a
deputy-chairman during his temporary absence, led the way to the nearest
coach-stand. Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directed
the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.

Mr. Perker had had a dinner-party that day, as was testified by the
appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the sound of an
improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet voice issuing therefrom,
and a rather overpowering smell of meat which pervaded the steps and
entry. In fact, a couple of very good country agencies happening to come
up to town, at the same time, an agreeable little party had been got
together to meet them, comprising Mr. Snicks, the Life Office Secretary,
Mr. Prosee, the eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of
bankrupts, a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptory
young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about the law
of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and references; and
several other eminent and distinguished personages. From this society,
little Mr. Perker detached himself, on his clerk being announced in a
whisper; and repairing to the dining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and
Job Trotter looking very dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen
candle, which the gentleman who condescended to appear in plush shorts
and cottons for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for
the clerk and all things appertaining to 'the office,' placed upon the
table.

'Now, Lowten,' said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door,'what's the
matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?'

'No, Sir,' replied Lowten. 'This is a messenger from Mr. Pickwick, Sir.'

'From Pickwick, eh?' said the little man, turning quickly to Job. 'Well,
what is it?'

'Dodson and Fogg