'But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I ampledged to Mr. Allen.'

'Don't think of me for a minute,' replied Bob. 'I've arrangedit all; Sam and I will share the dickey between us. Look here.This little bill is to be wafered on the shop door: "Sawyer, lateNockemorf. Inquire of Mrs. Cripps over the way." Mrs. Crippsis my boy's mother. "Mr. Sawyer's very sorry," says Mrs. Cripps,"couldn't help it--fetched away early this morning to aconsultation of the very first surgeons in the country--couldn't dowithout him--would have him at any price--tremendousoperation." The fact is,' said Bob, in conclusion, 'it'll do me moregood than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one of the localpapers, it will be the making of me. Here's Ben; now then,jump in!'

With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the postboyon one side, jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door,put up the steps, wafered the bill on the street door, locked it,put the key in his pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the wordfor starting, and did the whole with such extraordinaryprecipitation, that before Mr. Pickwick had well begun to considerwhether Mr. Bob Sawyer ought to go or not, they were rollingaway, with Mr. Bob Sawyer thoroughly established as part andparcel of the equipage.

So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bristol,the facetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, andconducted himself with becoming steadiness and gravity ofdemeanour; merely giving utterance to divers verbal witticismsfor the exclusive behoof and entertainment of Mr. Samuel Weller.But when they emerged on the open road, he threw off his greenspectacles and his gravity together, and performed a great varietyof practical jokes, which were calculated to attract the attentionof the passersby, and to render the carriage and those itcontained objects of more than ordinary curiosity; the leastconspicuous among these feats being a most vociferous imitation ofa key-bugle, and the ostentatious display of a crimson silkpocket-handkerchief attached to a walking-stick, which wasoccasionally waved in the air with various gestures indicative ofsupremacy and defiance.

'I wonder,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a mostsedate conversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to thenumerous good qualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister--'I wonderwhat all the people we pass, can see in us to make them stare so.'

'It's a neat turn-out,' replied Ben Allen, with something ofpride in his tone. 'They're not used to see this sort of thing, everyday, I dare say.'

'Possibly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'It may be so. Perhaps it is.'

Mr. Pickwick might very probably have reasoned himself intothe belief that it really was, had he not, just then happening tolook out of the coach window, observed that the looks of thepassengers betokened anything but respectful astonishment, andthat various telegraphic communications appeared to be passingbetween them and some persons outside the vehicle, whereuponit occurred to him that these demonstrations might be, in someremote degree, referable to the humorous deportment of Mr.Robert Sawyer.

'I hope,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that our volatile friend iscommitting no absurdities in that dickey behind.'

'Oh dear, no,' replied Ben Allen. 'Except when he's elevated,Bob's the quietest creature breathing.'

Here a prolonged imitation of a key-bugle broke upon the ear,succeeded by cheers and screams, all of which evidently proceededfrom the throat and lungs of the quietest creature breathing,or in plainer designation, of Mr. Bob Sawyer himself.

Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at eachother, and the former gentleman taking off his hat, and leaningout of the coach window until nearly the whole of his waistcoatwas outside it, was at length enabled to catch a glimpse of hisfacetious friend.

Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the roofof the chaise, with his legs as far asunder as they wouldconveniently go, wearing Mr. Samuel Weller's hat on one side of hishead, and bearing, in one hand, a most enormous sandwich,while, in the other, he supported a goodly-sized case-bottle, toboth of which he applied himself with intense relish, varying themonotony of the occupation by an occasional howl, or theinterchange of some lively badinage with any passing stranger.The crimson flag was carefully tied in an erect position to the railof the dickey; and Mr. Samuel Weller, decorated with BobSawyer's hat, was seated in the centre thereof, discussing a twinsandwich, with an animated countenance, the expression of whichbetokened his entire and perfect approval of the whole arrangement.

This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick'ssense of propriety, but it was not the whole extent of the aggravation,for a stage-coach full, inside and out, was meeting them atthe moment, and the astonishment of the passengers was verypalpably evinced. The congratulations of an Irish family, too,who were keeping up with the chaise, and begging all the time,were of rather a boisterous description, especially those of itsmale head, who appeared to consider the display as part andparcel of some political or other procession of triumph.

'Mr. Sawyer!' cried Mr. Pickwick, in a state of great excitement,'Mr. Sawyer, Sir!'

'Hollo!' responded that gentleman, looking over the side of thechaise with all the coolness in life.

'Are you mad, sir?' demanded Mr. Pickwick.

'Not a bit of it,' replied Bob; 'only cheerful.'

'Cheerful, sir!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'Take down thatscandalous red handkerchief, I beg. I insist, Sir. Sam, take it down.'

Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully struckhis colours, and having put them in his pocket, nodded in acourteous manner to Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the case-bottle, and applied it to his own, thereby informing him, withoutany unnecessary waste of words, that he devoted that draughtto wishing him all manner of happiness and prosperity. Havingdone this, Bob replaced the cork with great care, and lookingbenignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite out of thesandwich, and smiled.

'Come,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was notquite proof against Bob's immovable self-possession, 'pray let ushave no more of this absurdity.'

'No, no,' replied Bob, once more exchanging hats with Mr.Weller; 'I didn't mean to do it, only I got so enlivened with theride that I couldn't help it.'

'Think of the look of the thing,' expostulated Mr. Pickwick;'have some regard to appearances.'

'Oh, certainly,' said Bob, 'it's not the sort of thing at all. Allover, governor.'

Satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Pickwick once more drew hishead into the chaise and pulled up the glass; but he had scarcelyresumed the conversation which Mr. Bob Sawyer had interrupted,when he was somewhat startled by the apparition of a small darkbody, of an oblong form, on the outside of the window, whichgave sundry taps against it, as if impatient of admission.

'What's this?'exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'It looks like a case-bottle;' remarked Ben Allen, eyeing theobject in question through his spectacles with some interest; 'Irather think it belongs to Bob.'

The impression was perfectly accurate; for Mr. Bob Sawyer,having attached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick,was battering the window with it, in token of his wish, that hisfriends inside would partake of its contents, in all good-fellowshipand harmony.

'What's to be done?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the bottle.'This proceeding is more absurd than the other.'

'I think it would be best to take it in,' replied Mr. Ben Allen;'it would serve him right to take it in and keep it, wouldn't it?'

'It would,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'shall I?'

'I think it the most proper course we could possibly adopt,'replied Ben.

This advice quite coinciding with his own opinion, Mr. Pickwickgently let down the window and disengaged the bottle fromthe stick; upon which the latter was drawn up, and Mr. BobSawyer was heard to laugh heartily.

'What a merry dog it is!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round athis companion, with the bottle in his hand.

'He is,' said Mr. Allen.

'You cannot possibly be angry with him,' remarked Mr. Pickwick.

'Quite out of the question,' observed Benjamin Allen.

During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr. Pickwickhad, in an abstracted mood, uncorked the bottle.

'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen carelessly.

'I don't know,' replied Mr. Pickwick, with equal carelessness.'It smells, I think, like milk-punch.''Oh, indeed?' said Ben.

'I THINK so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guardinghimself against the possibility of stating an untruth; 'mind, Icould not undertake to say certainly, without tasting it.'

'You had better do so,' said Ben; 'we may as well know whatit is.'

'Do you think so?' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Well; if you arecurious to know, of course I have no objection.'

Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of hisfriend, Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.

'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with someimpatience.

'Curious,' said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips, 'I hardlyknow, now. Oh, yes!' said Mr. Pickwick, after a second taste.'It IS punch.'

Mr. Ben Allen looked at Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick lookedat Mr. Ben Allen; Mr. Ben Allen smiled; Mr. Pickwick did not.

'It would serve him right,' said the last-named gentleman, withsome severity--'it would serve him right to drink it every drop.'

'The very thing that occurred to me,' said Ben Allen.

'Is it, indeed?' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'Then here's hishealth!' With these words, that excellent person took a mostenergetic pull at the bottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who wasnot slow to imitate his example. The smiles became mutual, andthe milk-punch was gradually and cheerfully disposed of.

'After all,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he drained the last drop, 'hispranks are really very amusing; very entertaining indeed.'

'You may say that,' rejoined Mr. Ben Allen. In proof of BobSawyer's being one of the funniest fellows alive, he proceeded toentertain Mr. Pickwick with a long and circumstantial accounthow that gentleman once drank himself into a fever and got hishead shaved; the relation of which pleasant and agreeablehistory was only stopped by the stoppage of the chaise at theBell at Berkeley Heath, to change horses.

'I say! We're going to dine here, aren't we?' said Bob, lookingin at the window.

'Dine!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Why, we have only come nineteenmiles, and have eighty-seven and a half to go.'

'Just the reason why we should take something to enable us tobear up against the fatigue,' remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'Oh, it's quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o'clock inthe day,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch.

'So it is,' rejoined Bob, 'lunch is the very thing. Hollo, you sir!Lunch for three, directly; and keep the horses back for a quarterof an hour. Tell them to put everything they have cold, on thetable, and some bottled ale, and let us taste your very bestMadeira.' Issuing these orders with monstrous importance andbustle, Mr. Bob Sawyer at once hurried into the house to superintendthe arrangements; in less than five minutes he returnedand declared them to be excellent.

The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium whichBob had pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, notonly by that gentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwickalso. Under the auspices of the three, the bottled ale and theMadeira were promptly disposed of; and when (the horses beingonce more put to) they resumed their seats, with the case-bottlefull of the best substitute for milk-punch that could be procuredon so short a notice, the key-bugle sounded, and the red flagwaved, without the slightest opposition on Mr. Pickwick's part.

At the Hop Pole at Tewkesbury, they stopped to dine; uponwhich occasion there was more bottled ale, with some moreMadeira, and some port besides; and here the case-bottle wasreplenished for the fourth time. Under the influence of thesecombined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen fell fastasleep for thirty miles, while Bob and Mr. Weller sang duets inthe dickey.

It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself sufficientlyto look out of the window. The straggling cottages by the road-side, the dingy hue of every object visible, the murky atmosphere,the paths of cinders and brick-dust, the deep-red glow of furnacefires in the distance, the volumes of dense smoke issuing heavilyforth from high toppling chimneys, blackening and obscuringeverything around; the glare of distant lights, the ponderouswagons which toiled along the road, laden with clashing rods ofiron, or piled with heavy goods--all betokened their rapidapproach to the great working town of Birmingham.

As they rattled through the narrow thoroughfares leading tothe heart of the turmoil, the sights and sounds of earnest occupationstruck more forcibly on the senses. The streets were throngedwith working people. The hum of labour resounded from everyhouse; lights gleamed from the long casement windows in theattic storeys, and the whirl of wheels and noise of machineryshook the trembling walls. The fires, whose lurid, sullen light hadbeen visible for miles, blazed fiercely up, in the great works andfactories of the town. The din of hammers, the rushing of steam,and the dead heavy clanking of engines, was the harsh musicwhich arose from every quarter.The postboy was driving briskly through the open streets, andpast the handsome and well-lighted shops that intervene betweenthe outskirts of the town and the Old Royal Hotel, before Mr.Pickwick had begun to consider the very difficult and delicatenature of the commission which had carried him thither.

Title: The Pickwick Papers
Author: Charles Dickens
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