“Why, doubtful, my dear Sir; rather doubtful as yet,” replied the little man. “Fizkin’s people have got three-and-thirty voters in the lockup coach-house at the White Hart.”

“In the coach-house!” said Mr. Pickwick, considerably astonished by this second stroke of policy.

“They keep ’em locked up there till they want ’em,” resumed the little man. “The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our getting at them; and even if we could, it would be of no use, for they keep them very drunk on purpose. Smart fellow Fizkin’s agent⁠—very smart fellow indeed.”

Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing.