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‘
And
what
became
of
what
’
s
-
his
-
name
,
Sir
?
’
inquired
an
old
gentleman
.
‘
Blazo
?
’
‘
No
—
the
other
gentleman
.
’
‘
Quanko
Samba
?
’
‘
Yes
,
sir
.
’
‘
Poor
Quanko
—
never
recovered
it
—
bowled
on
,
on
my
account
—
bowled
off
,
on
his
own
—
died
,
sir
.
’
Here
the
stranger
buried
his
countenance
in
a
brown
jug
,
but
whether
to
hide
his
emotion
or
imbibe
its
contents
,
we
cannot
distinctly
affirm
.
We
only
know
that
he
paused
suddenly
,
drew
a
long
and
deep
breath
,
and
looked
anxiously
on
,
as
two
of
the
principal
members
of
the
Dingley
Dell
club
approached
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
and
said
—
‘
We
are
about
to
partake
of
a
plain
dinner
at
the
Blue
Lion
,
Sir
;
we
hope
you
and
your
friends
will
join
us
.
’
‘
Of
course
,
’
said
Mr
.
Wardle
,
‘
among
our
friends
we
include
Mr
.
—
;
’
and
he
looked
towards
the
stranger
.
‘
Jingle
,
’
said
that
versatile
gentleman
,
taking
the
hint
at
once
.
‘
Jingle
—
Alfred
Jingle
,
Esq
.
,
of
No
Hall
,
Nowhere
.
’
‘
I
shall
be
very
happy
,
I
am
sure
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
So
shall
I
,
’
said
Mr
.
Alfred
Jingle
,
drawing
one
arm
through
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
,
and
another
through
Mr
.
Wardle
’
s
,
as
he
whispered
confidentially
in
the
ear
of
the
former
gentleman
:
—
‘
Devilish
good
dinner
—
cold
,
but
capital
—
peeped
into
the
room
this
morning
—
fowls
and
pies
,
and
all
that
sort
of
thing
—
pleasant
fellows
these
—
well
behaved
,
too
—
very
.
’
