Royal Hotel stands. Mim's travelling giant,
otherwise Pickleson, happened at the self-same time to be trying it on in
the town. The genteel lay was adopted with him. No hint of a van. Green
baize alcove leading up to Pickleson in a Auction Room. Printed poster,
"Free list suspended, with the exception of that proud boast of an
enlightened country, a free press. Schools admitted by private
arrangement. Nothing to raise a blush in the cheek of youth or shock the
most fastidious." Mim swearing most horrible and terrific, in a pink
calico pay-place, at the slackness of the public. Serious handbill in
the shops, importing that it was all but impossible to come to a right
understanding of the history of David without seeing Pickleson.

I went to the Auction Room in question, and I found it entirely empty of
everything but echoes and mouldiness, with the single exception of
Pickleson on a piece of red drugget. This suited my purpose, as I wanted
a private and confidential word with him, which was: "Pickleson. Owing
much happiness to you, I put you in my will for a fypunnote; but, to save
trouble, here's fourpunten down, which may equally suit your views, and
let us so conclude the transaction." Pickleson, who up to that remark
had had the dejected appearance of a long Roman rushlight that couldn't
anyhow get lighted, brightened up at his top extremity, and made his
acknowledgments in a way which (for him) was parliamentary eloquence. He
likewise did add, that, having ceased to draw as a Roman, Mim had made
proposals for his going in as a conwerted Indian Giant worked upon by The
Dairyman's Daughter. This, Pickleson, having no acquaintance with the
tract named after that young woman, and not being willing to couple gag
with his serious views, had declined to do, thereby leading to words and
the total stoppage of the unfortunate young man's beer. All of which,
during the whole of the interview, was confirmed by the ferocious
growling of Mim down below in the pay-place, which shook the giant like a
leaf.

But what was to the present point in the remarks of the travelling giant,
otherwise Pickleson, was this: "Doctor Marigold,"--I give his words
without a hope of conweying their feebleness,--"who is the strange young
man that hangs about your carts?"--"The strange young _man_?" I gives
him back, thinking that he meant her, and his languid circulation had
dropped a syllable. "Doctor," he returns, with a pathos calc