mount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the place which had
just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent he was closely followed by
Mr. Pickwick and Sam.
    »There,« said Mr. Roker, pausing for breath when they reached another
gallery of the same dimensions as the one below, »this is the coffee-room
flight; the one above's the third, and the one above that's the top; and the
room where you're a-going to sleep to-night is the warden's room, and it's this
way - come on.« Having said all this in a breath, Mr. Roker mounted another
flight of stairs, with Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller following at his heels.
    These staircases received light from sundry windows placed at some little
distance above the floor, and looking into a gravelled area bounded by a high
brick wall, with iron chevaux-de-frise at the top. This area, it appeared from
Mr. Roker's statement, was the racket-ground; and it further appeared, on the
testimony of the same gentleman, that there was a smaller area in that portion
of the prison which was nearest Farringdon Street, denominated and called »the
Painted Ground,« from the fact of its walls having once displayed the semblances
of various men-of-war in full sail, and other artistical effects achieved in
bygone times by some imprisoned draughtsman in his leisure hours.
    Having communicated this piece of information, apparently more for the
purpose of discharging his bosom of an important fact, than with any specific
view of enlightening Mr. Pickwick, the guide, having at length reached another
gallery, led the way into a small passage at the extreme end: opened a door: and
disclosed an apartment of an appearance by no means inviting, containing eight
or nine iron bedsteads.
    »There,« said Mr. Roker, holding the door open, and looking triumphantly
round at Mr. Pickwick, »there's a room!«
    Mr. Pickwick's face, however, betokened such a very trifling portion of
satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging, that Mr. Roker looked for a
reciprocity of feeling into the countenance of Samuel Weller, who, until now,
had observed a dignified silence.
    »There's a room, young man,« observed Mr. Roker.
    »I see it,« replied Sam, with a placid nod of the head.
    »You wouldn't think to find such a room as this in the Farringdon Hotel,