was blowed if he wouldn’t write to the lord mayor. They got
him pacified at last; and for five years arter thathe never even so
much as peeped out o’ the lodge gate.’
‘At the expiration of that time he diedI suppose’ said Mr.
Pickwick.
‘Nohe didn’tsir’ replied Sam. ‘He got a curiosity to go and
taste the beer at a new public-house over the wayand it wos such
a wery nice parlourthat he took it into his head to go there every
nightwhich he did for a long timealways comin’ back reg’lar
about a quarter of an hour afore the gate shutwhich was all wery
snug and comfortable. At last he began to get so precious jolly
that he used to forget how the time ventor care nothin’ at all
about itand he went on gettin’ later and latertill vun night his
old friend wos just a-shuttin’ the gate—had turned the key in
fact—wen he come up. “Hold hardBill” he says. “Wotain’t you
come home yetTventy?’ says the turnkey“I thought you wos in
long ago.” “NoI wasn’t” says the little manwith a smile. “Well
The Pickwick Papers
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
805
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