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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 126/859
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‘
Paul
’
s
Churchyard
,
Sir
;
low
archway
on
the
carriage
side
,
bookseller
’
s
at
one
corner
,
hot
-
el
on
the
other
,
and
two
porters
in
the
middle
as
touts
for
licences
.
’
‘
Touts
for
licences
!
’
said
the
gentleman
.
‘
Touts
for
licences
,
’
replied
Sam
.
‘
Two
coves
in
vhite
aprons
—
touches
their
hats
ven
you
walk
in
—
"
Licence
,
Sir
,
licence
?
"
Queer
sort
,
them
,
and
their
mas
’
rs
,
too
,
sir
—
Old
Bailey
Proctors
—
and
no
mistake
.
’
‘
What
do
they
do
?
’
inquired
the
gentleman
.
‘
Do
!
You
,
Sir
!
That
ain
’
t
the
worst
on
it
,
neither
.
They
puts
things
into
old
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
’
s
heads
as
they
never
dreamed
of
.
My
father
,
Sir
,
wos
a
coachman
.
A
widower
he
wos
,
and
fat
enough
for
anything
—
uncommon
fat
,
to
be
sure
.
His
missus
dies
,
and
leaves
him
four
hundred
pound
.
Down
he
goes
to
the
Commons
,
to
see
the
lawyer
and
draw
the
blunt
—
very
smart
—
top
boots
on
—
nosegay
in
his
button
-
hole
—
broad
-
brimmed
tile
—
green
shawl
—
quite
the
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
.
Goes
through
the
archvay
,
thinking
how
he
should
inwest
the
money
—
up
comes
the
touter
,
touches
his
hat
—
"
Licence
,
Sir
,
licence
?
"
—
"
What
’
s
that
?
"
says
my
father
.
—
"
Licence
,
Sir
,
"
says
he
.
—
"
What
licence
?
"
says
my
father
.
—
"
Marriage
licence
,
"
says
the
touter
.
—
"
Dash
my
veskit
,
"
says
my
father
,
"
I
never
thought
o
’
that
.
"
—
"
I
think
you
wants
one
,
Sir
,
"
says
the
touter
.
My
father
pulls
up
,
and
thinks
a
bit
—
"
No
,
"
says
he
,
"
damme
,
I
’
m
too
old
,
b
’
sides
,
I
’
m
a
many
sizes
too
large
,
"
says
he
.
—
"
Not
a
bit
on
it
,
Sir
,
"
says
the
touter
.
—
"
Think
not
?
"
says
my
father
.
—
"
I
’
m
sure
not
,
"
says
he
;
"
we
married
a
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
twice
your
size
,
last
Monday
.
"
—
"
Did
you
,
though
?
"
said
my
father
.
—
"
To
be
sure
,
we
did
,
"
says
the
touter
,
"
you
’
re
a
babby
to
him
—
this
way
,
sir
—
this
way
!
"
—
and
sure
enough
my
father
walks
arter
him
,
like
a
tame
monkey
behind
a
horgan
,
into
a
little
back
office
,
vere
a
teller
sat
among
dirty
papers
,
and
tin
boxes
,
making
believe
he
was
busy
.
"
Pray
take
a
seat
,
vile
I
makes
out
the
affidavit
,
Sir
,
"
says
the
lawyer
.
—
"
Thank
’
ee
,
Sir
,
"
says
my
father
,
and
down
he
sat
,
and
stared
with
all
his
eyes
,
and
his
mouth
vide
open
,
at
the
names
on
the
boxes
.
"
What
’
s
your
name
,
Sir
,
"
says
the
lawyer
.
—
"
Tony
Weller
,
"
says
my
father
.
—
"
Parish
?
"
says
the
lawyer
.
"
Belle
Savage
,
"
says
my
father
;
for
he
stopped
there
wen
he
drove
up
,
and
he
know
’
d
nothing
about
parishes
,
he
didn
’
t
.
—
"
And
what
’
s
the
lady
’
s
name
?
"
says
the
lawyer
.
My
father
was
struck
all
of
a
heap
.
"
Blessed
if
I
know
,
"
says
he
.
—
"
Not
know
!
"
says
the
lawyer
.
—
"
No
more
nor
you
do
,
"
says
my
father
;
"
can
’
t
I
put
that
in
arterwards
?
"
—
"
Impossible
!
"
says
the
lawyer
.
—
"
Wery
well
,
"
says
my
father
,
after
he
’
d
thought
a
moment
,
"
put
down
Mrs
.
Clarke
.
"
—
"
What
Clarke
?
"
says
the
lawyer
,
dipping
his
pen
in
the
ink
.
—
"
Susan
Clarke
,
Markis
o
’
Granby
,
Dorking
,
"
says
my
father
;
"
she
’
ll
have
me
,
if
I
ask
.
I
des
-
say
—
I
never
said
nothing
to
her
,
but
she
’
ll
have
me
,
I
know
.
"
The
licence
was
made
out
,
and
she
DID
have
him
,
and
what
’
s
more
she
’
s
got
him
now
;
and
I
never
had
any
of
the
four
hundred
pound
,
worse
luck
.
Beg
your
pardon
,
sir
,
’
said
Sam
,
when
he
had
concluded
,
‘
but
wen
I
gets
on
this
here
grievance
,
I
runs
on
like
a
new
barrow
with
the
wheel
greased
.
’
Having
said
which
,
and
having
paused
for
an
instant
to
see
whether
he
was
wanted
for
anything
more
,
Sam
left
the
room
.
‘
Half
-
past
nine
—
just
the
time
—
off
at
once
;
’
said
the
gentleman
,
whom
we
need
hardly
introduce
as
Mr
.
Jingle
.
‘
Time
—
for
what
?
’
said
the
spinster
aunt
coquettishly
.
‘
Licence
,
dearest
of
angels
—
give
notice
at
the
church
—
call
you
mine
,
to
-
morrow
’
—
said
Mr
.
Jingle
,
and
he
squeezed
the
spinster
aunt
’
s
hand
.
