Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

How Mr. Pickwick sped upon his Mission, and how he was reinforced in the Outset by a most unexpected

           Pickwickanopportunityofaskinganyfurtherquestions,ifhefeltsodisposed.‘Takeanythingnow,Sir?’saidthewaiter,lightingthecandleindesperationatMr.Pickwick’ssilence.‘Teaorcoffee,Sir?Dinner,sir?’

           ‘Nothingnow.’

           ‘Verygood,sir.Liketoordersupper,Sir?’

           ‘Notjustnow.’

           ‘Verygood,Sir.’Here,hewalkedslowlytothedoor,andthenstoppingshort,turnedroundandsaid,withgreatsuavity

           ‘ShallIsendthechambermaid,gentlemen?’

           ‘Youmayifyouplease,’repliedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘IfYOUplease,sir.’

           ‘Andbringsomesoda-water,’saidBobSawyer.

           ‘Soda-water,Sir!Yes,Sir.’Withhismindapparentlyrelievedfromanoverwhelmingweight,byhavingatlastgotanorderforsomething,thewaiterimperceptiblymeltedaway.Waitersneverwalkorrun.Theyhaveapeculiarandmysteriouspowerofskimmingoutofrooms,whichothermortalspossessnot.

           SomeslightsymptomsofvitalityhavingbeenawakenedinMr.BenAllenbythesoda-water,hesufferedhimselftobeprevailedupontowashhisfaceandhands,andtosubmittobebrushedbySam.Mr.PickwickandBobSawyerhavingalsorepairedthedisorderwhichthejourneyhadmadeintheirapparel,thethreestartedforth,arminarm,toMr.Winkle’s;BobSawyerimpregnatingtheatmospherewithtobaccosmokeashewalkedalong.

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