Chapter 20

CHAPTER XX
SHOWING HOW DODSON AND FOGG WERE MEN OF
BUSINESS, AND THEIR CLERKS MEN OF PLEASURE; AND
HOW AN AFFECTING INTERVIEW TOOK PLACE BETWEEN
Mr. WELLER AND HIS LONG-LOST PARENT; SHOWING ALSO
WHAT CHOICE SPIRITS ASSEMBLED AT THE MAGPIE AND
STUMP, AND WHAT A CAPITAL CHAPTER THE NEXT ONE
WILL BE

In the ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very farthest end
of Freeman's Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks of Messrs. Dodson
& Fogg, two of his Majesty's attorneys of the courts of King's Bench
and Common Pleas at Westminster, and solicitors of the High Court of
Chancery--the aforesaid clerks catching as favourable glimpses of
heaven's light and heaven's sun, in the course of their daily
labours, as a man might hope to do, were he placed at the bottom
of a reasonably deep well; and without the opportunity of perceiving
the stars in the day-time, which the latter secluded situation affords.

The clerks' office of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg was a dark,
mouldy, earthy-smelling room, with a high wainscotted partition
to screen the clerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old wooden
chairs, a very loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand,
a row of hat-pegs, and a few shelves, on which were deposited
several ticketed bundles of dirty papers, some old deal boxes with
paper labels, and sundry decayed stone ink bottles of various
shapes and sizes. There was a glass door leading into the passage
which formed the entrance to the court, and on the outer side of
this glass door, Mr. Pickwick, closely followed by Sam Weller,
presented himself on the Friday morning succeeding the occurrence
of which a faithful narration is given in the last chapter.

'Come in, can't you!' cried a voice from behind the partition,
in reply to Mr. Pickwick's gentle tap at the door. And Mr.
Pickwick and Sam entered accordingly.

'Mr. Dodson or Mr. Fogg at home, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick,
gently, advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly
engaged,' replied the voice; and at the same time the head to
which the voice belonged, with a pen behind its ear, looked over
the partition, and at Mr. Pickwick.

it was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulously
parted on one side, and flattened down with pomatum, was
twisted into little semi-circular tails round a flat face ornamented
with a pair of small eyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirt
collar, and a rusty black stock.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly
engaged,' said the man to whom the head belonged.

'When will Mr. Dodson be back, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'Can't say.'

'Will it be long before Mr. Fogg is