"I'll see," said Wicks, dismounting leisurely from his stool. "What name shall I tell Mr. Fogg?"
"Pickwick," replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs. Mr. Jackson departed up stairs on his errand, and immediately returned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick in five minutes; and having delivered it, returned again to his desk.
"What did he say his name was?" whispered Wicks.
"Pickwick," replied Jackson; "it's the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick."
A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound of suppressed laughter, was heard from behind the partition.
"They're a twiggin' of you, sir," whispered Mr. Weller.
"Twigging of me, Sam!" replied Mr. Pickwick; "what do you mean by twigging me?"
Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of the pleasing fact, that all the four clerks, with countenances expressive of the utmost amusement, and with their heads thrust over the wooden screen, were minutely inspecting the figure and general appearance of the supposed trifler with female hearts, and disturber of female happiness. On his looking up, the row of heads suddenly disappeared, and the sound of pens travelling at a furious rate over paper, immediately succeeded.
A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, summoned Mr. Jackson to the apartment of Fogg, from whence he came back to say that he (Fogg) was ready to see Mr. Pickwick if he would step up stairs.
Up stairs Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leaving Sam Weller below. The room door of the one-pair back, bore inscribed in legible characters the imposing words "Mr. Fogg;" and, having tapped thereat, and been desired to come in, Jackson ushered Mr. Pickwick into the presence.
"Is Mr. Dodson in?" inquired Mr. Fogg.
"Just come in, sir," replied Jackson.
