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Posted Feb 01 2013 2:54am
Mr. Spenlow was as good as his word. In a week or toms outlet store two, he 
referred to this engagement, and said, that if I would do him the 
favour to come down next Saturday, and stay till Monday, he 
would be extremely happy. Of course I said I would do him the 
favour; and he was to drive me down in his phaeton, and to bring 
me back. 

When the day arrived, my very carpet-bag was an object of 
veneration to the stipendiary clerks, to whom the house at 
Norwood was a sacred mystery. One of them informed me that he 
had heard that Mr. Spenlow ate entirely off plate and china; and 
another hinted at champagne being constantly on draught, after 
the usual custom of table-beer. The old clerk with the wig, whose 
name was Mr. Tiffey, had been down on business several times in 
the course of his career, and had on each occasion penetrated to 
the breakfast-parlour. He described it as an apartment of the most 
sumptuous nature, and said that he had drunk brown East India 
sherry there, of a quality so precious as to make a man wink. We 
had an adjourned cause in the Consistory that day—about 
excommunicating a baker who had been objecting in a vestry to a 
paving-rate—and as the evidence was just twice the length of 
Robinson Crusoe, according to a calculation I made, it was rather 
late in the day before we finished. However, we got him 
excommunicated for six weeks, and sentenced in no end of costs; 
and then the baker’s proctor, and the judge, and the advocates on 
both sides (who were all nearly related), went out of town together, 
and Mr. Spenlow and I drove away in the phaeton. 
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