“Not one halfpenny,” said Mr. Pickwick.

“Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn’t renew the bill,” observed Mr. Samuel Weller.

III.—­In the Fleet Prison

Two months later Mr. Pickwick was arrested for the non-payment of costs and damages and taken to the Fleet Prison.  And so, for the first time in his life, Mr. Pickwick found himself within the walls of a debtor’s prison.

“Where am I to sleep to-night?” inquired Mr. Pickwick of the turnkey, and after some discussion it was discovered there was a bed to let.

“It ain’t a large ’un, but it’s an out-and-outer to sleep in.  This way, sir,” said the turnkey.

Mr. Pickwick, accompanied by Sam Weller, followed his guide up a 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?”