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Miss Upton got to her feet and started on her trip, her eyes expressing renewed anxiety. A lantern-faced, round-shouldered man, whose ill-fitting clothes, low collar several sizes too large, and undecided manner suggested that he was a visitor from the rural districts, happened to be starting for the young girl's table at the same moment. Miss Upton perceived his intention.
"Business that's too big for you, p'raps," said the sailor with a lordly air. "I'll try a bigger place. What's that lantern-faced swab shoving his ugly mug into the daylight for?" "Get off," said the pawnbroker to the assistant, who was quietly and unobtrusively making a third. "Mind the shop. This gentleman and I have business in the parlor. Come this way, sir."
The Vrouw Prinsloo, in her absurd night garments, was waddling towards the figure, and a little way off stood Hernan Pereira, apparently in the act of reloading a double-barrelled gun. Beyond, staring at him, stood the lantern-faced Henri Marais, pulling at his long beard with one hand and holding a rifle in the other.
"Cut it out, Barney," cried the lantern-faced owner of the fiery red hair. "Anyways a sight o' my hair 'ud be more encouragin' than your ugly 'map. Seems to me, bein' familiar with my hair 'll make the fires of hell, you'll likely see later, come easier to you when they git busy fumigatin' your carkis." "Gee! that's an elegant word," cried Hoosier Pete, a stripling of youthful elderliness.
Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed upon, in violation of all established rules and customs, to admit them at once. Mr. Serjeant Snubbins was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man, of about five-and-forty, or as the novels say he might be fifty.
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