peculiar. His first act was to bolt the door on the inside; his second, to polish his head and countenance very carefully with a cotton handkerchief; his third, to place his hat, with the cotton handkerchief in it, on the nearest chair; and his fourth, to produce from the breast-pocket of his coat a short truncheon, surmounted by a brazen crown, with which he beckoned to Mr. Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like air.
Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. He looked steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then said emphatically: "This is a private room, sir. A private room."
Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, "No room's private to his Majesty when the street door's once passed. That's law. Some people maintains that an Englishman's house is his castle. That's gammon."
The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes.
"Which is Mr. Tupman?" inquired Mr. Grummer. He had an intuitive perception of Mr. Pickwick; he knew him at once.
"My name's Tupman," said that gentleman.
"My name's Law," said Mr. Grummer.
"What?" said Mr. Tupman.
"Law," replied Mr. Grummer, "law, civil power, and exekative; them's my titles; here's my authority. Blank Tupman, blank Pickvick—against the peace of our sufferin Lord the King—stattit in that case made and purwided—and all regular. I apprehend you Pickvick! Tupman—the aforesaid."
"What do you mean by this insolence?" said Mr. Tupman, starting up: "Leave the room!"
"Halloo," said Mr Grummer, retreating very expeditiously to the door, and opening it an inch or two, "Dubbley."
"Well," said a deep voice from the passage.
"Come for'ard, Dubbley."
At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over six feet high, and stout in proportion, squeezed himself
