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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 281/859
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"
Well
,
Ramsey
tried
to
speak
,
but
Fogg
wouldn
’
t
let
him
,
so
he
put
the
money
in
his
pocket
,
and
sneaked
out
.
The
door
was
scarcely
shut
,
when
old
Fogg
turned
round
to
me
,
with
a
sweet
smile
on
his
face
,
and
drew
the
declaration
out
of
his
coat
pocket
.
"
Here
,
Wicks
,
"
says
Fogg
,
"
take
a
cab
,
and
go
down
to
the
Temple
as
quick
as
you
can
,
and
file
that
.
The
costs
are
quite
safe
,
for
he
’
s
a
steady
man
with
a
large
family
,
at
a
salary
of
five
-
and
-
twenty
shillings
a
week
,
and
if
he
gives
us
a
warrant
of
attorney
,
as
he
must
in
the
end
,
I
know
his
employers
will
see
it
paid
;
so
we
may
as
well
get
all
we
can
get
out
of
him
,
Mr
.
Wicks
;
it
’
s
a
Christian
act
to
do
it
,
Mr
.
Wicks
,
for
with
his
large
family
and
small
income
,
he
’
ll
be
all
the
better
for
a
good
lesson
against
getting
into
debt
—
won
’
t
he
,
Mr
.
Wicks
,
won
’
t
he
?
"
—
and
he
smiled
so
good
-
naturedly
as
he
went
away
,
that
it
was
delightful
to
see
him
.
He
is
a
capital
man
of
business
,
’
said
Wicks
,
in
a
tone
of
the
deepest
admiration
,
‘
capital
,
isn
’
t
he
?
’
The
other
three
cordially
subscribed
to
this
opinion
,
and
the
anecdote
afforded
the
most
unlimited
satisfaction
.
‘
Nice
men
these
here
,
Sir
,
’
whispered
Mr
.
Weller
to
his
master
;
‘
wery
nice
notion
of
fun
they
has
,
Sir
.
’
Mr
.
Pickwick
nodded
assent
,
and
coughed
to
attract
the
attention
of
the
young
gentlemen
behind
the
partition
,
who
,
having
now
relaxed
their
minds
by
a
little
conversation
among
themselves
,
condescended
to
take
some
notice
of
the
stranger
.
‘
I
wonder
whether
Fogg
’
s
disengaged
now
?
’
said
Jackson
.
‘
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
upstairs
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
.
’
