Chapter 40

CHAPTER XL
INTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW AND NOT UNINTERESTING
SCENE IN THE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFE

The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned
as the duration of the stay at Bath passed over without the
occurrence of anything material. Trinity term commenced. On the
expiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned
to London; and the former gentleman, attended of course by Sam,
straightway repaired to his old quarters at the George and Vulture.

On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in
the city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about
nine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air
in George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove
up, out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the
reins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman,
who seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him.

The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. It
was not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it
a taxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and
yet it had something of the character of each and every of these
machines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and
wheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodox
sporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail.
The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but with
something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless,
which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.

The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair,
and carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly
gorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--
all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn by
gentlemen--and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into one
pocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment he
dismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, a
very bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whisked
a speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it in
his hand, swaggered up the court.

It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person
dismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn
of divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on the
opposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationary
close by. Having something more than a suspicion of the object
of the gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to the George and
Vulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centre
of the doorway.

'Now, my fine fellow!' said the man in the rough coat, in an