‘Ah,’ he said, when Mr. Pickwick had concluded, ‘Dodson and Fogg--sharp practice theirs--capital men of business, Dodson and Fogg, sir.’ Mr. Pickwick admitted the sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg, and Lowten resumed. ‘Perker ain’t in town, and he won’t be, neither, before the end of next week; but if you want the action defended, and will leave the copy with me, I can do all that’s needful till he comes back.’ ‘That’s exactly what I came here for,’ said Mr. Pickwick, handing over the document. ‘If anything particular occurs, you can write to me at the post-office, Ipswich.’ ‘That’s all right,’ replied Mr. Perker’s clerk; and then seeing Mr. Pickwick’s eye wandering curiously towards the table, he added, ‘will you join us, for half an hour or so? We are capital company here to- night. There’s Samkin and Green’s managing-clerk, and Smithers and Price’s chancery, and Pimkin and Thomas’s out o’ doors--sings a capital song, he does--and Jack Bamber, and ever so many more. You’re come out of the country, I suppose. Would you like to join us?’ Mr. Pickwick could not resist so tempting an opportunity of studying human nature. He suffered himself to be led to the table, where, after having been introduced to the company in due form, he was accommodated with a seat near the chairman and called for a glass of his favourite beverage. A profound silence, quite contrary to Mr. Pickwick’s expectation, succeeded. ‘You don’t find this sort of thing disagreeable, I hope, sir?’ said his right hand neighbour, a gentleman in a checked shirt and Mosaic studs, with a cigar in his mouth. ‘Not in the least,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I like it very much, although I am no smoker myself.’ ‘I should be very sorry to say I wasn’t,’ interposed another gentleman on the opposite side of the table. ‘It’s board and lodgings to me, is smoke.’ Mr. Pickwick glanced at the speaker, and thought that if it were washing too, it would be all the better. Here there was another pause. Mr. Pickwick was a stranger, and his coming had evidently cast a damp upon the party. ‘Mr. Grundy’s going to oblige the company with a song,’ said the chairman. ‘No, he ain’t,’ said Mr. Grundy. ‘Why not?’ said the chairman. ‘Because he can’t,’ said Mr. Grundy. ‘You had better say he won’t,’ replied the chairman. ‘Well, then, he won’t,’ retorted Mr. Grundy. Mr. Grundy’s positive refusal to gratify the company occasioned another silence. ‘Won’t anybody enliven us?’ said the chairman, despondingly. ‘Why don’t you enliven us yourself, Mr. Chairman?’ said a young man with a whisker, a squint, and an open shirt collar (dirty), from the bottom of the table. ‘Hear! hear!’ said the smoking gentleman, in the Mosaic jewellery. ‘Because I only know one song, and I have sung it already, and it’s a fine of “glasses round” to sing the same song twice in a night,’ replied the chairman. This was an unanswerable reply, and silence prevailed again.