“Come in!” cried the little man.
The clerk came in, and shut the door after him, with great mystery.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Perker.
“You’re wanted, sir.”
“Who wants me?”
Lowten looked at Mr. Pickwick, and coughed.
“Who wants me? Can’t you speak, Mr. Lowten?”
“Why, sir,” replied Lowten, “it’s Dodson; and Fogg is with him.”
“Bless my life!” said the little man, looking at his watch. “I appointed them to be here, at half-past eleven, to settle that matter of yours, Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on which they sent down your discharge; it’s very awkward, my dear sir; what will you do? Would you like to step into the next room?”
The next room being the identical room in which Messrs. Dodson and Fogg were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would remain where he was: the more especially as Messrs. Dodson and Fogg ought to be ashamed to look him in the face, instead of his being ashamed to see them. Which latter circumstance he begged Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance and many marks of indignation.