He ran up to the carriage.

'Come in, Goldmore,' says he; 'just in time, my boy.

Open the door, What-d'ye-call'um, and let your master out,'-- and What-d'ye-call'um obeyed mechanically, with a face of wonder and horror, only to be equalled by the look of stupefied astonishment which ornamented the purple countenance of his master.
'Wawt taim will you please have the CAGE, sir ?' says What-d'ye-call'um, in that peculiar, unspellable, inimitable, flunkefied pronunciation which forms one of the chief charms of existence.
Best have it to the theatre at night,' Gray exclaims; 'it is but a step from here to the Wells, and we can walk there.

I've got tickets for all.
Be at Sadler's Wells at eleven.' 'Yes, at eleven,' exclaims Goldmore, perturbedly, and walks with a flurried step into the house, as if he were going to execution (as indeed he was, with that wicked Gray as a Jack Ketch over him).

The carriage drove away, followed by numberless eyes from doorsteps and balconies; its appearance is still a wonder in Bittlestone Street.
'Go in there, and amuse yourself with Snob,' says Gray, opening the little drawing-room door.