Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.
“Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.
“Blue Lion at Muggleton,” briefly responded Mr. Allen.
“You should have joined us last night,” said Mr. Pickwick.
“So we should,” replied Bob Sawyer, “but the brandy was too good to leave in a hurry: wasn’t it, Ben?”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Benjamin Allen; “and the cigars were not bad, or the pork chops either: were they, Bob?”
“Decidedly not,” said Bob. And the particular friends resumed their attack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection of last night’s supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.
“Peg away, Bob,” said Mr. Allen to his companion, encouragingly.
“So I do,” replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.
“Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, looking round the table.
“By the bye, Bob,” said Mr. Allen, “have you finished that leg yet?”
“Nearly,” replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he spoke. “It’s a very muscular one for a child’s.”
“Very,” said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.
“I’ve put my name down for an arm, at our place,” said Mr. Allen. “We’re clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full, only we can’t get hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish you’d take it.”
“No,” replied Bob Sawyer; “can’t afford expensive luxuries.”
“Can’t indeed,” rejoined Bob Sawyer. “I wouldn’t mind a brain, but I couldn’t stand a whole head.”
“Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray,” said Mr. Pickwick, “I hear the ladies.”
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an early walk.
“Lor, Ben!” said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more surprise than pleasure at the sight of her brother.
“Come to take you home to-morrow,” replied Benjamin.
“Don’t you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?” enquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out her hand, in acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer’s presence. A thrill of hatred struck to Mr. Winkle’s heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on the proffered hand a perceptible squeeze.
“Ben, dear!” said Arabella, blushing; “have—have—you been introduced to Mr. Winkle?”