'I wonder,' said Tom, 'that in these crowded streets the foot-passengers
are not oftener run over.'
Mr Moddle, with a dark look, replied:
'The drivers won't do it.'
'Do you mean?' Tom began--
'That there are some men,' interrupted Moddle, with a hollow laugh, 'who
can't get run over. They live a charmed life. Coal waggons recoil from
them, and even cabs refuse to run them down. Ah!' said Augustus, marking
Tom's astonishment. 'There are such men. One of 'em is a friend of
mine.'
'Upon my word and honour,' thought Tom, 'this young gentleman is in
a state of mind which is very serious indeed!' Abandoning all idea of
conversation, he did not venture to say another word, but he was careful
to keep a tight hold upon Augustus's arm, lest he should fly into the
road, and making another and a more successful attempt, should get up a
private little Juggernaut before the eyes of his betrothed. Tom was
so afraid of his committing this rash act, that he had scarcely ever
experienced such mental relief as when they arrived in safety at Mrs
Jonas Chuzzlewit's house.
'Walk up, pray, Mr Pinch,' said Miss Pecksniff.
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