“No, no, I won’t return it,” said Fogg, falling back a little more as he spoke; to the evident relief of his partner, who by these means was gradually getting into the outer office.
“You are,” continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of his discourse, “you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.”
“Well,” interposed Perker, “is that all?”
“It is all summed up in that,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick; “they are mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.”
“There!” said Perker in a most conciliatory tone. “My dear sirs, he has said all he has to say. Now pray go. Lowten, is that door open?”
Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative.
“There, there—good morning—good morning—now pray, my dear sirs,—Mr. Lowten, the door!” cried the little man, pushing Dodson and Fogg, nothing loath, out of the office; “this way, my dear sirs,—now pray don’t prolong this—dear me—Mr. Lowten—the door, sir—why don’t you attend?”
“If there’s law in England, sir,” said Dodson, looking towards Mr. Pickwick, as he put on his hat, “you shall smart for this.”
“You are a couple of mean——”
“Remember, sir, you pay dearly for this,” said Fogg.