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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 442/859
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‘
What
name
,
Sir
?
’
said
the
waiter
.
‘
Jackson
,
’
replied
the
clerk
.
The
waiter
stepped
upstairs
to
announce
Mr
.
Jackson
;
but
Mr
.
Jackson
saved
him
the
trouble
by
following
close
at
his
heels
,
and
walking
into
the
apartment
before
he
could
articulate
a
syllable
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
had
,
that
day
,
invited
his
three
friends
to
dinner
;
they
were
all
seated
round
the
fire
,
drinking
their
wine
,
when
Mr
.
Jackson
presented
himself
,
as
above
described
.
‘
How
de
do
,
sir
?
’
said
Mr
.
Jackson
,
nodding
to
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
That
gentleman
bowed
,
and
looked
somewhat
surprised
,
for
the
physiognomy
of
Mr
.
Jackson
dwelt
not
in
his
recollection
.
‘
I
have
called
from
Dodson
and
Fogg
’
s
,
’
said
Mr
.
Jackson
,
in
an
explanatory
tone
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
roused
at
the
name
.
‘
I
refer
you
to
my
attorney
,
Sir
;
Mr
.
Perker
,
of
Gray
’
s
Inn
,
’
said
he
.
‘
Waiter
,
show
this
gentleman
out
.
’
‘
Beg
your
pardon
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
’
said
Jackson
,
deliberately
depositing
his
hat
on
the
floor
,
and
drawing
from
his
pocket
the
strip
of
parchment
.
‘
But
personal
service
,
by
clerk
or
agent
,
in
these
cases
,
you
know
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
—
nothing
like
caution
,
sir
,
in
all
legal
forms
—
eh
?
’
Here
Mr
.
Jackson
cast
his
eye
on
the
parchment
;
and
,
resting
his
hands
on
the
table
,
and
looking
round
with
a
winning
and
persuasive
smile
,
said
,
‘
Now
,
come
;
don
’
t
let
’
s
have
no
words
about
such
a
little
matter
as
this
.
Which
of
you
gentlemen
’
s
name
’
s
Snodgrass
?
’
