“There’s a capital room up in the coffee-room flight, that belongs to a Chancery prisoner,” said Mr. Roker. “It’ll stand you in a pound a week. I suppose you don’t mind that?”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Pickwick.

“Just step there with me,” said Roker, taking up his hat with great alacrity; “the matter’s settled in five minutes. Lord! why didn’t you say at first that you was willing to come down handsome?”