‘More company!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
‘It’s a gentleman,’ said Mrs. Raddle.
‘Well, if it ain’t Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson and Fogg’s!’ cried Mrs. Bardell. ‘Why, gracious! Surely Mr. Pickwick can’t have paid the damages.’
‘Or hoffered marriage!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
‘Dear me, how slow the gentleman is,’ exclaimed Mrs. Rogers. ‘Why doesn’t he make haste!’
As the lady spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from the coach where he had been addressing some observations to a shabby man in black leggings, who had just emerged from the vehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to the place where the ladies were seated; winding his hair round the brim of his hat, as he came along.
‘Is anything the matter? Has anything taken place, Mr. Jackson?’ said Mrs. Bardell eagerly.
‘Nothing whatever, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Jackson. ‘How de do, ladies? I have to ask pardon, ladies, for intruding—but the law, ladies—the law.’ With this apology Mr. Jackson smiled, made a comprehensive bow, and gave his hair another wind. Mrs. Rogers whispered Mrs. Raddle that he was really an elegant young man.
‘I called in Goswell Street,’ resumed Mr. Jackson, ‘and hearing that you were here, from the slavey, took a coach and came on. Our people want you down in the city directly, Mrs. Bardell.’
‘Lor!’ ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of the communication.