‘Good-morning, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Fogg. So saying, he put his umbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended the hand of reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman; who, thereupon, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and eyed the attorney with looks of scornful amazement.
‘Lowten!’ cried Perker, at this moment. ‘Open the door.’
‘Wait one instant,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Perker, I will speak.’
‘My dear Sir, pray let the matter rest where it is,’ said the little attorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehension during the whole interview; ‘Mr. Pickwick, I beg—’
‘I will not be put down, Sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘Mr. Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me.’
Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly, and smiled.
‘Some remarks to me,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick, almost breathless; ‘and your partner has tendered me his hand, and you have both assumed a tone of forgiveness and high-mindedness, which is an extent of impudence that I was not prepared for, even in you.’
‘What, sir!’ exclaimed Dodson.
‘What, sir!’ reiterated Fogg.
‘Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and conspiracies?’ continued Mr. Pickwick. ‘Do you know that I am the man whom you have been imprisoning and robbing? Do you know that you were the attorneys for the plaintiff, in Bardell and Pickwick?’