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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 517/859
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The
travellers
’
room
at
the
White
Horse
Cellar
is
of
course
uncomfortable
;
it
would
be
no
travellers
’
room
if
it
were
not
.
It
is
the
right
-
hand
parlour
,
into
which
an
aspiring
kitchen
fireplace
appears
to
have
walked
,
accompanied
by
a
rebellious
poker
,
tongs
,
and
shovel
.
It
is
divided
into
boxes
,
for
the
solitary
confinement
of
travellers
,
and
is
furnished
with
a
clock
,
a
looking
-
glass
,
and
a
live
waiter
,
which
latter
article
is
kept
in
a
small
kennel
for
washing
glasses
,
in
a
corner
of
the
apartment
.
One
of
these
boxes
was
occupied
,
on
this
particular
occasion
,
by
a
stern
-
eyed
man
of
about
five
-
and
-
forty
,
who
had
a
bald
and
glossy
forehead
,
with
a
good
deal
of
black
hair
at
the
sides
and
back
of
his
head
,
and
large
black
whiskers
.
He
was
buttoned
up
to
the
chin
in
a
brown
coat
;
and
had
a
large
sealskin
travelling
-
cap
,
and
a
greatcoat
and
cloak
,
lying
on
the
seat
beside
him
.
He
looked
up
from
his
breakfast
as
Mr
.
Pickwick
entered
,
with
a
fierce
and
peremptory
air
,
which
was
very
dignified
;
and
,
having
scrutinised
that
gentleman
and
his
companions
to
his
entire
satisfaction
,
hummed
a
tune
,
in
a
manner
which
seemed
to
say
that
he
rather
suspected
somebody
wanted
to
take
advantage
of
him
,
but
it
wouldn
’
t
do
.
‘
Waiter
,
’
said
the
gentleman
with
the
whiskers
.
‘
Sir
?
’
replied
a
man
with
a
dirty
complexion
,
and
a
towel
of
the
same
,
emerging
from
the
kennel
before
mentioned
.
‘
Some
more
toast
.
’
‘
Yes
,
sir
.
’
‘
Buttered
toast
,
mind
,
’
said
the
gentleman
fiercely
.
‘
Directly
,
sir
,
’
replied
the
waiter
.
The
gentleman
with
the
whiskers
hummed
a
tune
in
the
same
manner
as
before
,
and
pending
the
arrival
of
the
toast
,
advanced
to
the
front
of
the
fire
,
and
,
taking
his
coat
tails
under
his
arms
,
looked
at
his
boots
and
ruminated
.
‘
I
wonder
whereabouts
in
Bath
this
coach
puts
up
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
mildly
addressing
Mr
.
Winkle
.
