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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 437/859
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The
command
was
not
to
be
resisted
.
Mr
.
Winkle
allowed
Sam
to
obey
it
,
in
silence
.
‘
Lift
him
up
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
Sam
assisted
him
to
rise
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
retired
a
few
paces
apart
from
the
bystanders
;
and
,
beckoning
his
friend
to
approach
,
fixed
a
searching
look
upon
him
,
and
uttered
in
a
low
,
but
distinct
and
emphatic
tone
,
these
remarkable
words
—
‘
You
’
re
a
humbug
,
sir
.
’
‘
A
what
?
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
,
starting
.
‘
A
humbug
,
Sir
.
I
will
speak
plainer
,
if
you
wish
it
.
An
impostor
,
sir
.
’
With
those
words
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
turned
slowly
on
his
heel
,
and
rejoined
his
friends
.
While
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
delivering
himself
of
the
sentiment
just
recorded
,
Mr
.
Weller
and
the
fat
boy
,
having
by
their
joint
endeavours
cut
out
a
slide
,
were
exercising
themselves
thereupon
,
in
a
very
masterly
and
brilliant
manner
.
Sam
Weller
,
in
particular
,
was
displaying
that
beautiful
feat
of
fancy
-
sliding
which
is
currently
denominated
‘
knocking
at
the
cobbler
’
s
door
,
’
and
which
is
achieved
by
skimming
over
the
ice
on
one
foot
,
and
occasionally
giving
a
postman
’
s
knock
upon
it
with
the
other
.
It
was
a
good
long
slide
,
and
there
was
something
in
the
motion
which
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
who
was
very
cold
with
standing
still
,
could
not
help
envying
.
‘
It
looks
a
nice
warm
exercise
that
,
doesn
’
t
it
?
’
he
inquired
of
Wardle
,
when
that
gentleman
was
thoroughly
out
of
breath
,
by
reason
of
the
indefatigable
manner
in
which
he
had
converted
his
legs
into
a
pair
of
compasses
,
and
drawn
complicated
problems
on
the
ice
.
‘
Ah
,
it
does
,
indeed
,
’
replied
Wardle
.
‘
Do
you
slide
?
’
