Chapter 53 - Page 2

so speedily, that ten o'clock had not struck when he reached
Gray's Inn.

It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended
the staircase on which Perker's chambers were. The clerks had
not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the
staircase window.
The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the
dingy old houses brighten up a little; some of the dusty windows
actually looking almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon
them. Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by one or other
of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock, accelerated
or decreased his rate of walking according to the time at which
his office hours nominally commenced; the half-past nine
o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten
o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness.
The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever,
each one in a greater perspiration than his predecessor. The
noise of unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on
every side; heads appeared as if by magic in every window; the
porters took up their stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses
hurried off; the postman ran from house to house; and
the whole legal hive was in a bustle.

'You're early, Mr. Pickwick,' said a voice behind him.

'Ah, Mr. Lowten,' replied that gentleman, looking round, and
recognising his old acquaintance.

'Precious warm walking, isn't it?' said Lowten, drawing a
Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep
the dust out.

'You appear to feel it so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at
the clerk, who was literally red-hot.

'I've come along, rather, I can tell you,' replied Lowten. 'It
went the half hour as I came through the Polygon. I'm here
before him, though, so I don't mind.'

Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extracted
the plug from the door-key; having opened the door, replugged
and repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the
postman had dropped through the box, he ushered Mr. Pickwick
into the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested
himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment, which he took
out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of
cartridge and blotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a
pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.

'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, 'now I'm complete.
I've got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as
soon as he likes. You haven't got a pinch of snuff about you,
have you?'

'No, I have not,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'I'm sorry for it,' said Lowten. 'Never mind. I'll run