Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand, and immediately returned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick in five minutes; and having delivered it, returned again to his desk.

“What did he say his name was?” whispered Wicks.

“Pickwick,” replied Jackson; “it’s the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick.”

A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound of suppressed laughter, was heard from behind the partition.

“They’re a-twiggin’ of you, Sir,” whispered Mr. Weller.

“Twigging of me, Sam!” replied Mr. Pickwick; “what do you mean by twigging me?”