“Why, really there ain’t much time to lose,” replied Jackson; “and I’ve got a friend here,” he continued, looking towards the man with the ash stick.
“Oh, ask your friend to come here, sir,” said Mrs. Bardell. “Pray ask your friend here, sir.”
“Why, thankee, I’d rather not,” said Mr. Jackson, with some embarrassment of manner. “He’s not much used to ladies’ society, and it makes him bashful. If you’ll order the waiter to deliver him anything short, he won’t drink it off at once, won’t he—only try him!” Mr. Jackson’s fingers wandered playfully round his nose, at this portion of his discourse, to warn his hearers that he was speaking ironically.
The waiter was at once despatched to the bashful gentleman, and the bashful gentleman took something; Mr. Jackson also took something, and the ladies took something, for hospitality’s sake. Mr. Jackson then said he was afraid it was time to go; upon which, Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins, and Tommy (who it was arranged should accompany Mrs. Bardell: leaving the others to Mr. Raddle’s protection), got into the coach.
“Isaac,” said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in: looking up at the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the box, smoking a cigar.
“Well?”
“This is Mrs. Bardell.”
“Oh, I knowed that long ago,” said the man.
Mrs. Bardell got in, Mr. Jackson got in after her, and away they drove. Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what Mr. Jackson’s friend had said. Shrewd creatures, those lawyers. Lord bless us, how they find people out!
“Sad thing about these costs of our people’s, ain’t it,” said Jackson, when Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders had fallen asleep; “your bill of costs, I mean?”