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- Чарльз Диккенс
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‘
Well
,
wot
’
s
amiss
here
?
’
growled
the
man
in
the
brown
coat
,
who
had
been
gradually
sneaking
up
the
court
during
this
short
dialogue
.
‘
Only
some
insolence
of
this
young
man
’
s
,
’
said
the
principal
,
giving
Sam
another
push
.
‘
Come
,
none
o
’
this
gammon
,
’
growled
Smouch
,
giving
him
another
,
and
a
harder
one
.
This
last
push
had
the
effect
which
it
was
intended
by
the
experienced
Mr
.
Smouch
to
produce
;
for
while
Sam
,
anxious
to
return
the
compliment
,
was
grinding
that
gentleman
’
s
body
against
the
door
-
post
,
the
principal
crept
past
,
and
made
his
way
to
the
bar
,
whither
Sam
,
after
bandying
a
few
epithetical
remarks
with
Mr
.
Smouch
,
followed
at
once
.
‘
Good
-
morning
,
my
dear
,
’
said
the
principal
,
addressing
the
young
lady
at
the
bar
,
with
Botany
Bay
ease
,
and
New
South
Wales
gentility
;
‘
which
is
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
room
,
my
dear
?
’
‘
Show
him
up
,
’
said
the
barmaid
to
a
waiter
,
without
deigning
another
look
at
the
exquisite
,
in
reply
to
his
inquiry
.
The
waiter
led
the
way
upstairs
as
he
was
desired
,
and
the
man
in
the
rough
coat
followed
,
with
Sam
behind
him
,
who
,
in
his
progress
up
the
staircase
,
indulged
in
sundry
gestures
indicative
of
supreme
contempt
and
defiance
,
to
the
unspeakable
gratification
of
the
servants
and
other
lookers
-
on
.
Mr
.
Smouch
,
who
was
troubled
with
a
hoarse
cough
,
remained
below
,
and
expectorated
in
the
passage
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
fast
asleep
in
bed
,
when
his
early
visitor
,
followed
by
Sam
,
entered
the
room
.
The
noise
they
made
,
in
so
doing
,
awoke
him
.
‘
Shaving
-
water
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
from
within
the
curtains
.
