rable glimpses of heaven's light and
heaven's sun, in the course of their daily labours, as a man might
hope to do, were he placed at the bottom of a reasonably deep well; and
without the opportunity of perceiving the stars in the day-time, which
the latter secluded situation affords.

The clerks' office of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg was a dark, mouldy,
earthy-smelling room, with a high wainscotted partition to screen the
clerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old wooden chairs, a very
loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand, a row of hat-pegs,
and a few shelves, on which were deposited several ticketed bundles of
dirty papers, some old deal boxes with paper labels, and sundry decayed
stone ink bottles of various shapes and sizes. There was a glass door
leading into the passage which formed the entrance to the court, and on
the outer side of this glass door, Mr. Pickwick, closely followed by
Sam Weller, presented himself on the Friday morning succeeding the
occurrence of which a faithful narration is given in the last chapter.

'Come in, can't you!' cried a voice from behind the partition, in reply
to Mr. Pickwick's gentle tap at the door. And Mr. Pickwick and Sam
entered accordingly.

'Mr. Dodson or Mr. Fogg at home, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, gently,
advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly engaged,' replied
the voice; and at the same time the head to which the voice belonged,
with a pen behind its ear, looked over the partition, and at Mr.
Pickwick.

It was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulously parted
on one side, and flattened down with pomatum, was twisted into little
semi-circular tails round a flat face ornamented with a pair of small
eyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirt collar, and a rusty black
stock.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly engaged,' said
the man to whom the head belonged.

'When will Mr. Dodson be back, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'Can't say.'

'Will it be long before Mr. Fogg is disengaged, Sir?'

'Don't know.'

Here the man proceeded to mend his pen with great deliberation, while
another clerk, who was mixing a Seidlitz powder, under cover of the lid
of his desk, laughed approvingly.

'I think I'll wait,' said Mr. Pickwick. There was no reply; so Mr.
Pickwick sat down unbidden, and listened to the loud ticking of the
clock and the murmured conversation of the clerks.