staircase and along a gallery; at the end of this was an apartment
containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.

Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable when he was left
alone, and he went slowly to bed. He was awakened from his slumbers by
the noise of his bed-fellows, one of whom, wearing grey cotton
stockings, was performing a hornpipe; while another, evidently very
drunk, was warbling as much as he could recollect of a comic song; the
third, a man with thick, bushy whiskers, was applauding both performers.

"My name is Smangle, sir," said the man with the whiskers to Mr.
Pickwick.

"Mine is Mivins," said the man in the stockings.

"Well; but come," said Mr. Smangle, after assuring Mr. Pickwick a great
many times that he entertained a very high respect for the feelings of a
gentleman, "this is but dry work. Let's rinse our mouths with a drop of
burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and
I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and gentleman-like division of
labour, anyhow."

Mr. Pickwick, unwilling to hazard a quarrel, gladly assented to the
proposition.

When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object upon
which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small black
portmanteau.

He soon learnt that money was in the Fleet just what money was out of
it; and that if he wished it he could have a room to himself, if he was
willing to pay for it.

"There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a
Chancery prisoner," said the turnkey. "It'll stand you in a pound a
week. Lord! Why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come
down handsome?"

The matter was soon arranged, and in a short time the room was
furnished.

"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when his servant had done his best to make the
apartment comfortable, and was now inspecting the arrangements, "I have
felt from the first that this is not the place to bring a young man to."

"Nor an old 'un neither, sir."

"You're quite right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But old men may come here
through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion. Do you understand me,
Sam?"

"Vell, sir," rejoined Sam, after a pause, "I think I see your drift, and
it's my 'pinion that you're a-comin' it a great deal too strong, as the
mail-coachman said to the snowstorm ven it overtook him."

"For the time that I remain here," said Mr. Pickwick, "you must leave
me, Sam."

"Now, I tell you vot it is," said