Mr. Pickwick nodded assent. ‘Ought I, though?’ said the unfortunate, with a doubtful appeal to his partner. ‘You ought, Sir,’ said the fat gentleman, in an awful voice. ‘Very sorry,’ said the crestfallen Miller. ‘Much use that,’ growled the fat gentleman. ‘Two by honours--makes us eight,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Another hand. ‘Can you one?’ inquired the old lady. ‘I can,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Double, single, and the rub.’ ‘Never was such luck,’ said Mr. Miller. ‘Never was such cards,’ said the fat gentleman. A solemn silence; Mr. Pickwick humorous, the old lady serious, the fat gentleman captious, and Mr. Miller timorous. ‘Another double,’ said the old lady, triumphantly making a memorandum of the circumstance, by placing one sixpence and a battered halfpenny under the candlestick. ‘A double, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Quite aware of the fact, Sir,’ replied the fat gentleman sharply. Another game, with a similar result, was followed by a revoke from the unlucky Miller; on which the fat gentleman burst into a state of high personal excitement which lasted until the conclusion of the game, when he retired into a corner, and remained perfectly mute for one hour and twenty-seven minutes; at the end of which time he emerged from his retirement, and offered Mr. Pickwick a pinch of snuff with the air of a man who had made up his mind to a Christian forgiveness of injuries sustained. The old lady’s hearing decidedly improved and the unlucky Miller felt as much out of his element as a dolphin in a sentry-box.