“Who there is in the house!” said Sam, in whose mind the inmates were always represented by that particular article of their costume which came under his immediate superintendence. “There’s a vooden leg in number six; there’s a pair of Hessians in thirteen; there’s two pair of halves in the commercial; there’s these here painted tops in the snuggery inside the bar; and five more tops in the coffee-room.”
“Nothing more?” said the little man.
“Stop a bit,” replied Sam, suddenly recollecting himself. “Yes; there’s a pair of Vellingtons a good deal worn, and a pair o’ lady’s shoes, in number five.”
“What sort of shoes?” hastily inquired Wardle, who, together with Mr. Pickwick, had been lost in bewilderment at the singular catalogue of visitors.
“Country make,” replied Sam.
“Any maker’s name?”
“Brown.”
“Where of?”
“Muggleton.”
“It is them!” exclaimed Wardle. “By heavens, we’ve found them!”