"Nobody but you," retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity.
"You see, Mr. Pickwick," said the host in explanation of his wife's lament, "that we are in some measure cut off from many enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake. My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, the position which that paper holds in the country, my constant immersion in the vortex of politics—"
"P. my dear—" interposed Mrs. Pott.
"My life—" said the editor.
"I wish, my dear, you would endeavour to find some topic of conversation in which these gentlemen might take some rational interest."
"But my love," said Mr. Pott, with great humility, "Mr. Pickwick does take an interest in it."
"It's well for him if he can," said Mrs. Pott, emphatically; "I am wearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels with the Independent, and nonsense. I am quite astonished P. at your making such an exhibition of your absurdity."
"But my dear—" said Mr. Pott.
"Oh, nonsense, don't talk to me;" said Mrs. Pott. "Do you play ecarté, sir?"
"I shall be very happy to learn under your tuition," replied Mr. Winkle.
"Well, then, draw that little table into this window, and let me get out of hearing of those prosy politics."
"Jane," said Mr. Pott, to the servant who brought in candles, "go down into the office, and bring me up the file of the Gazette for Eighteen Hundred and Twenty Eight. I'll read you—" added the editor, turning to Mr. Pickwick, "I'll just read you a few of the leaders I wrote at that time upon the Buff job of appointing a new tollman to the turnpike here; I rather think they'll amuse you."
"I should like to hear them very much, indeed," said Mr. Pickwick.
Up came the file, and down sat the editor, with Mr. Pickwick at his side.
