wick was enabled to alight. They were shown to a comfortable
apartment, and Mr. Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter
concerning the whereabout of Mr. Winkle's residence.

'Close by, Sir,' said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards, Sir.
Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, Sir, at the canal, sir. Private residence
is not--oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.' Here the waiter
blew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting it again, in order to
afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking any further questions, if
he felt so disposed. 'Take anything now, Sir?' said the waiter, lighting
the candle in desperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. 'Tea or coffee,
Sir? Dinner, sir?'

'Nothing now.'

'Very good, sir. Like to order supper, Sir?'

'Not just now.'

'Very good, Sir.' Here, he walked slowly to the door, and then stopping
short, turned round and said, with great suavity--

'Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?'

'You may if you please,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'If YOU please, sir.'

'And bring some soda-water,' said Bob Sawyer.

'Soda-water, Sir! Yes, Sir.' With his mind apparently relieved from an
overwhelming weight, by having at last got an order for something, the
waiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters never walk or run. They have
a peculiar and mysterious power of skimming out of rooms, which other
mortals possess not.

Some slight symptoms of vitality having been awakened in Mr. Ben Allen
by the soda-water, he suffered himself to be prevailed upon to wash his
face and hands, and to submit to be brushed by Sam. Mr. Pickwick and Bob
Sawyer having also repaired the disorder which the journey had made in
their apparel, the three started forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle's;
Bob Sawyer impregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoke as he walked
along.

About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-looking street,
stood an old red brick house with three steps before the door, and a
brass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals, the words, 'Mr.
Winkle.'The steps were very white, and the bricks were very red, and the
house was very clean; and here stood Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Benjamin Allen,
and Mr. Bob Sawyer, as the clock struck ten.

A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started on beholding the
three strangers.

'Is Mr. Winkle at home, my dear?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'He is just going to supper, Sir,' replied the girl.

'Give him that card if you please,'