Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Mr. Samuel Weller, being intrusted with a Mission of Love, proceeds to execute it; with what Success

           

           SamstruggledacrosstheDownsagainstagoodhighwind,wonderingwhetheritwasalwaysnecessarytoholdyourhatonwithbothhandsinthatpartofthecountry,andcametoashadyby-place,aboutwhichweresprinkledseverallittlevillasofquietandsecludedappearance.Outsideastabledooratthebottomofalongbacklanewithoutathoroughfare,agroominundresswasidlingabout,apparentlypersuadinghimselfthathewasdoingsomethingwithaspadeandawheel-barrow.Wemayremark,inthisplace,thatwehavescarcelyeverseenagroomnearastable,inhislazymoments,whohasnotbeen,toagreaterorlessextent,thevictimofthissingulardelusion.

           Samthoughthemightaswelltalktothisgroomastoanyoneelse,especiallyashewasverytiredwithwalking,andtherewasagoodlargestonejustoppositethewheel-barrow;sohestrolleddownthelane,and,seatinghimselfonthestone,openedaconversationwiththeeaseandfreedomforwhichhewasremarkable.

           ‘Mornin’,oldfriend,’saidSam.

           ‘Arternoon,youmean,’repliedthegroom,castingasurlylookatSam.

           ‘You’reweryright,oldfriend,’saidSam;‘IDOmeanarternoon.Howareyou?’

           ‘Why,Idon’tfindmyselfmuchthebetterforseeingofyou,’repliedtheill-temperedgroom.

           ‘That’sweryoddthatis,’saidSam,‘foryoulooksouncommoncheerful,andseemaltogethersolively,thatitdoesvun’sheartgoodtoseeyou.

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