"I suppose, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while he spoke; "I suppose, sir, that it is the intention of your employers to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?"
Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the secrets of the prison-house, and playfully rejoined:
"Not knowin', can't say."
"For what other reason, sir," pursued Mr. Pickwick, are these subpoenas served upon them, if not for this?"
"Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick," replied Jackson, slowly shaking his head. "But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's little to be got out of me."
Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and, applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary coffee-mill with his right hand: thereby performing a very graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated "taking a grinder."
"No, no, Mr. Pickwick," said Jackson, in conclusion; "Perker's people must guess what we've served these subpœnas for. If they can't, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they'll find out."
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his unwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled some tremendous anathema at the heads of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, had not Sam's entrance at the instant interrupted him.
"Samuel Weller?" said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
"Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year," replied Sam, in a most composed manner.
"Here's a subpœna for you, Mr. Weller," said Jackson.
"What's that in English?" inquired Sam.
"Here's the original," said Jackson, declining the required explanation.
"Which?" said Sam.
"This," replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
